


of Frozen Thrones and Bleeding Hearts (Be Mine Forever)

by dark_and_spooky (JamieisClassic)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin isn't biologically Varian's son, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Lich King Anduin AU, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Minor Character Death, Parent/Child Incest, Sort Of, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieisClassic/pseuds/dark_and_spooky
Summary: The invasion at the Broken Shore is a distraction. Stormwind, and the boy keeping his father’s throne warm there, was the real target. As they are besieged by a new scourge, Anduin finds that he will do anything it takes to save his city from the scourge, and beyond that, to save Azeroth from war.
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 26
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The highly anticipated Lich King Anduin au I've been yammering about. This is very experimental on my part from a storytelling perspective so I hope you all like it!

Varian watched another soldier tumble off the edge of the Skyfire as the colossus tightened its grip, and looked back to Genn. He was reaching out, hoping to pull Varian up from where he dangled precariously, but Varian knew there was nothing to be done — if he were pulled up onto that ship all that would happen was the demise of both of them, and that wasn’t worth it. It was his duty to serve his country, and the Alliance, above all else, and it was a duty he would not abandon even if it meant his death.

Swinging up, he deposited a letter in Genn’s outreached hand, one he knew Genn would understand the importance of. “Take this to my son,” he instructed, then let himself fall toward the colossus. 

He spun in the air, raising Shalamayne above his head and bringing it to just the right angle to plunge into the colossus’s head, breaking through the plates and cracking the metal. The monster released its grip on the ship, and he was infinitely grateful when he saw her move away. Genn knew the sacrifices a king must make, surely, and Varian knew his letter to Anduin was in good hands. As the creature beneath him shuddered, letting out a horrific sound, he found himself clinging to his blade where it was embedded in its skull for balance as the colossus fell. 

Riding the colossus to the ground, he deftly pulled his blade free and lept into a roll to catch his fall, rising directly into combat with a number of felguards. He slew them quickly, the small number of demons no match for his skill, and as their corpses smouldered on the ground he watched over his shoulder as the Skyfire disappeared into the distance. 

With a foreign urgency, he knew he would die here. He quickly assessed and cut down another wave of demons before turning to face Gul’dan, snarling all the while. Perhaps he would die, but he would take as many demons as he could down with him. He was the Ghost Wolf after all. 

Another wave was motioned forward and his defences faltered, one breaking through and impaling him from behind through his shoulder. The pain was immense, more agonizing than anything he’d ever felt, and yet it doubled when another demon mirrored the action, forcing Shalamayne from his hands and him to his knees. He waited for the deathblow, but it did not come, and he glared defiantly at the warlock before him despite his agony.

Gul’dan chuckled low in his throat, his voice that deep bass that made you wonder whether it was even mortal speech, and proceeded forward slowly. Each click of his staff on the ground ricocheted around Varian’s skull like a bullet, somehow louder than all his pain or the rushing of blood in his ears, and when he finally stood before him, green fel-flame igniting in his palm, Varian spat at his feet. Yet, despite the provocation, Gul’dan simply watched, a viciously pleased grin on his face, as Varian kneeled there suffering. 

“Well? Are you not going to kill me?” he challenged.

The sphere of fel in Gul’dan’s hand brightened, intensifying in a way where it got smaller but all the more volatile looking, but as he began to bring the searing sphere to Varian’s chest, he paused, withdrawing it. “No, there are other plans in motion for you and your _Alliance_ ,” Gul’dan growled, a tone of mocking dripping off the last word. 

Gul’dan turned and waved his staff to open a portal, but instead of bringing more creatures through it as Varian had assumed he would, the man motioned and his demons began to exit through it instead as if retreating. He turned to look at Varian where he was still held down and impaled and, surprisingly, motioned the two demons holding him to leave him there. As they left through the portal Gul’dan assessed him one last time before making to step through.

“Why?” Varian called, agony and curiosity bringing the word to his lips in equal measure. 

Gul’dan just chuckled that low bass once again, “What was that you told your boy? There must always be a Wrynn in Stormwind?” 

And with that, he stepped through the portal and it closed behind him in a flash. More portals appeared, opening in the skies and around the land of the Broken Shore as the whole demon invasion drew back, retreating for no reason Varian could understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short little tease, the real first chapter will be up in two days after I edit and such.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scourge invades Stormwind while Varian is at the Broken Shore. Anduin defends his people, but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the timeline of this isn't too confusing. Essentially "before" refers to before the retreat at the broken shore in the prologue, and "present time" is a continually forward-moving time not relative to it.

####  **_One hour earlier, Stormwind Cathedral Square_ **

“Everyone inside! Please stay calm and try to be careful of others as you enter! The Priests will bring you into the catacombs and you will be safe there while we fight back the scourge!” Anduin shouted over the clamour of the crowd and battle. 

People rushed around him, panicking and yelling out for one another, parents carried their young children on their hips while holding the hands of older ones, and beyond all that was the crashing and shouting of his soldiers bravely standing against the hundreds of scourge that had swarmed Stormwind less than an hour ago. They had overrun the city with ease, accompanied by a floating necropolis that currently hovered above the keep, and far sooner than he would have liked to Anduin had been forced to call a retreat and evacuation to Cathedral Square. Now, as the last of the citizens they’d been able to save filed into the cathedral and his soldiers fell one by one to the blades of the scourge, he really, truly understood the desperation of their position. 

From where he stood, he threw Penance after Penance into the lines of soldiers fighting, healing them as best he was able with limited mana and only so much range, but still, they fell one after another after another, dropping like flies. This would not hold. They were spread too thin, covering too many entrances, Anduin knew, but were he to call them back to regroup at the cathedral steps, they would lose the advantage of their chokepoints. Damn it all to the void, he wished his father were here instead, he would know how to proceed, but as it was Anduin was alone and held command in his stead.

Focusing another wave of healing, Anduin was almost too late to catch the trio of Death Knights that flew into the square over the roofs and landed before him in time to call for aid. Thankfully, he was not the only one who noticed them and a few of the dwindling collection of guards holding the square broke rank to face them as they dismounted and rushed for Anduin. He threw up a barrier just in time to deflect the first blow, throwing a Holy Nova out to hopefully give his nearby soldiers a little boost and hurt the enemy while he was at it. Anduin recognized one of the guards to be Captain Amalia Park, and he threw a Penance in her direction in thanks for her help. 

Between his healing and damage spells and the four guards, they managed to dispatch the three Death Knights without too much trouble, but the loss of that effort supporting the chokepoints was showing greatly when he finally managed to turn his attention back to them. Try as he might, no amount of healing could restore the dead, and with the losses as heavy as they were he was quickly realizing their position was essentially lost. He reached for the Light, praying for the strength to bring his soldiers back to the battlefield, to tell them that the fight wasn’t quite finished yet and their city, their king, still needed them, but he was too worn down to bring the spell to bear. Yet, as he reached out with his mind something else called to him, something bright and glowing in his consciousness’s eye for all it was not the Light itself, and he realized upon surveying the ground nearby that one of the fallen Death Knights had been carrying a rather unusual blade, though it was not the one she’d been wielding. 

He stepped closer, inspecting as best he could between desperate healing spells. The blade was large and heavy-hilted, with an elongated skull on the crossguard and a faintly glowing blue gem in the pommel. What was more, the whole thing seemed to glow on Anduin’s periphery whenever he turned away, though when he was looking right at it it gave off no light. Some part of him was called to it, called to a power it promised despite the danger that power probably came paired with, and as he watched his soldiers fall, the scourge at first slowly then all at once overwhelming the blockades and swarming into the square, he realized the danger was secondary to the safety of his citizens. Whatever curse this blade held, he would bear it for the good of his people. 

As his fingers curled around the grip of the blade, drawing it from the sheath as he backed up the steps to consolidate what remained of the guard, he felt power underneath his skin crackle like lightning. An urge took him and he reached out once again to bring his soldiers back to the battle, but this time it was not the light that answered his call. Raising his right hand, he felt a cold flame burn through his chest and outward, spreading like fire on a Westfall field over the bodies of his soldiers and to his amazement, they stirred. All around him, the bodies of his soldiers rose, standing and lifting their arms once again to fight back the scourge with renewed strength, and those that had consolidated to the cathedral steps cheered and dove forward to join them. 

Anduin resumed his upkeep of healing spells, ensuring that his soldiers were healthy and well, and strangely found those he’d raised much easier to heal than before as if somehow his desire for them to live drove them and healed them where previously it hadn’t. A handful of lumbering ghouls broke through the line toward Anduin and seemingly on instinct he brought his new blade up to block the slash of claws. With a deftness he’d never known before, he sliced through the first ghoul’s hand, whirling to decapitate another before plunging his blade into the chest of the third. He brought up his foot and kicked its limp body away, using the momentum to turn and slash through the exposed ribcage of the first ghoul, killing it. 

Distraction handled, he turned back to the battle before him and renewed his efforts to heal, and though he tried ardently to make sure none fell, many of the soldiers that had not been renewed by his spell died. As they did, though, he found increasing reserves in his mana to raise them, a power unlike any he’d wielded before, and one after another, he watched them fall and brought them to rise again, renewed. 

After that, after most of his forces had been touched by this new strength, the battle quickly turned in their favour and they retook the square with ease. Not wanting to lose momentum, he raised his sword in the air and hollered, “Reclaim the district! For the Alliance! For Stormwind!” 

The call was answered by the cheers of his soldiers, victorious and bright, but the sound made his heart stop in his chest. Their voices were wrong, were alien. Were… dead. Gazing more closely he realized that none of them had quite the same warmth of life to their flesh and all, without fault, had a faint but ever-growing blue glow behind their eyes. 

What had he done?

_ My duty, _ he reminded himself,  _ I protected my people and my city. _ Shaking off his shock, he watched as his soldiers clamoured out of the square, presumably to push the scourge out of the district entirely. He could fix this later, and he promised himself he would, but for now he needed the strength their undeath granted them. With that thought, he turned back to the cathedral and entered, preparing to tell the Priests to keep the citizens quiet just in case the scourge came back. He had a floating necropolis to deal with. 

####    
  


####  **_Present time, aboard the Skyfire_ **

“Brace for contact!” Genn shouted above the drone of the engines as he saw innumerable portals open in the sky, but instead of demons pouring out of them, it seemed all the demons on the entire Shore were retreating through them. 

“What’s going on, King Greymane?” a marine asked, but Genn just shook his head. He had no answer to the young woman’s question. 

A flash in his peripheral startled him briefly before he registered the familiar colour and shape and Jaina appeared a moment later on the deck. She nodded to Genn then looked around for a moment before a crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Where is Varian?” she asked, approaching Genn.

He sighed, gazing down at the retreating shore. “He didn’t make it, Jaina.”

“He didn’t…” Sadness filled her eyes, “Oh I see. Well if the demons are retreating we should at least go retrieve his body. Is he where we retreated from?”

“I would assume so, yes. Can you take us right there?” he replied, holding his arm out for a teleport.

Jaina nodded, and the world disappeared and reappeared in a flash of purple light. The sand was soft beneath his boots for all it was steeped in demon and human blood, but none of that registered beyond the irritation of running on sand as Genn rushed toward a heavily bleeding but still breathing Varian.

“Varian! VARIAN!” he screamed, falling to his knees and stripping his coat off to hold it to Varian’s bleeding wounds. “He’s alive, Jaina, he's alive. Get us out of here!”

She was next to him a moment later, worry creasing her face. “I’m not sure he’ll survive a teleport, Genn. Not in his condition.”

“And he won’t survive waiting for the Skyfire to come back around or send a medic. I’d rather risk taking him back to the ship.” Genn looked into her eyes and he knew she agreed even if she hated risking her friend’s life.

With a nod, she placed one hand on his shoulder and another on Varian’s arm and after another flash, they were on the Skyfire again. 

“Medic!” Jaina yelled, and thankfully there were some standing by to help. 

A Draenei Genn recognized as the SI:7 agent Mishka rushed up to them, bending down to inspect the person wrapped in Genn’s coat and gasping when she got a better look at him. “Is this the king?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Yes, and if you get to work healing him before he bleeds out he’ll stay the king,” Genn snapped, but Mishka didn’t seem to react to his anger.

“Take your coat away and I will get to work. Lady Jaina could you fetch the Priest belowdecks with the crew to help me, please?” Mishka was already rolling up her sleeves and opening a surgical kit. “King Greymane please assist me in taking off this armour, it’s in the way.” 

Genn nodded, trying to keep pressure on the wounds as he unbuckled Varian’s armour and removed it as quickly as he could. Perhaps he should have been more careful with it, it was the royal armour after all, but armour could be replaced — Varian couldn’t. Finished stripping off his armour, Genn awkwardly kept Varian propped up as best he could so that Mishka could work on him without further dirtying his wounds on the deck of the ship. 

Jaina arrived with the Priest, a worgen woman named Anita, and quickly she and Mishka worked to disinfect the wounds and close them up. Despite how tapped Anita looked, she poured seemingly endless healing into the wounds, carefully stitching the flesh together from the inside out while Mishka worked to staunch the bleeding and sew up the outside. He would probably have scars, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Varian Wrynn. 

When the women had finished, Genn hefted Varian up and took him down to his chambers on the ship. Though small and cramped, they were clean and private, and once Varian was laid in his bed Genn finally felt like he could breathe again. Jaina entered a moment later, levitating Varian’s armour at her side which she commanded onto to the stand next to the bed, and perched herself on the edge of the mattress. 

She placed a hand over the center of Varian’s chest with a deep sadness in her eyes that Genn neither recognized from experience nor had seen in her before. “We knew each other when we were both young and bright-eyed, you know. If I lost him… Varian’s death would be the final death of all my happy summers in Lordaeron,” she all but whispered. 

Genn understood, somewhat, knowing that losing Mia and Tess would feel like losing Liam, and Gilneas for that matter, all over again. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in what he hoped was a reassuring way — he was far more often the one being comforted than the one comforting, much to his shame. 

“We’ll get him home and I’m sure Anduin will take good care of him. That boy always was better with the Light than nearly anybody aside from Velen, if anyone can get Varian back in fighting shape it’s him.” 

“You’re right,” Jaina replied, throwing a weary smile over her shoulder to him, “Let’s make sure everyone else is alright and we’ll be in Stormwind soon.”

####    
  
  


####  **_30 minutes before, Stormwind Keep Gates_ **

Anduin quickly surveyed the small group of his newly minted Death Knights behind him for the final time and nodded to himself. This would be enough. 

After retaking the Cathedral Square district, the newly Undead army of Stormwind split into two groups: one to stay behind and guard the cathedral and the other to retake the Dwarven District. It had been a brief battle, none of the scourge’s tactics quite so effective against an Undead population as they were against the living, nevermind that in their rising a great majority of Anduin’s soldiers had become Death Knights of equal calibre to the scourge’s greatest, and the minor minions sent to take Stormwind were hardly a challenge to them now. He had led the march, with his strongest forming a shield of powerful Death Knights in front of him, Captain Amalia at the center of the five, and his troops behind him. 

They’d sundered the armies trying to hold the Dwarven district swiftly, moving over the canals to take in the Keep and the necropolis hovering above it. That, he’d known, was a job only he and a small group would be needed for, so he ordered the rest of his soldiers to retake Old Town and hold it until he returned. When he was done with the necromancer leading this charge, he wanted to see if he could control the armies marching on the city instead of destroying them. 

Now, he stood at the gates to his home and saw the line of enemy Death Knights there ready to defend the claim they’d staked on what was rightfully Anduin’s. With a thought, he ordered his Death Knights forward, willing them to draw steel and fight. He’d realized shortly after beginning his march into the Dwarven District that they were slaves to his will, and though he suspected he could free them, and would as soon as they were not actively in battle, he knew freeing them would come with a lot of consequences and he didn’t currently have time for their insubordination or existential crises if he wanted to save his city. 

Amalia led the charge forward and he watched her parry an incoming strike from the respective Captain and use the momentum to catch him and toss him into her second’s blade. They fought remarkably, faster and stronger by leagues then the Death Knights they battled, and Anduin kept them in top shape with spells to protect and embolden them.

One Death Knight seemed to realize Anduin’s power and broke through the line, running at him. In a move that would have made Varian proud, Anduin feinted at the last minute and dive rolled past the rushing Knight. He caught his feet in a sweep and heard him crash into the wood of the drawbridge. As the Knight rolled over to stand, Anduin felt something surge within him and he plunged his blade into the man’s chest, drawing it away to watch the body briefly be engulfed in blue flame, then rise again. Now, however, instead of rushing at Anduin, he rushed toward his old allies, blade raised to strike. 

Well, at least he could re-raise them once he’d killed them, that was good to know.

Anduin turned back to watch his party fight, and already the battle was essentially won. He sent a wave of magic out over them, healing his own and consuming the bodies of the hostiles. When the flames faded, they were no longer hostile, kneeling to Anduin in deference and Anduin felt a smirk tug at his lips — good, this was what belonged to him. His castle, his people, his crown. 

“Rise, Knights. You will remain here to defend this position as you were before our arrival. My team and I will use your griffins to ascend and when we return victorious I wish for you to head up and clean up the necropolis for my use. Is that understood?” Anduin put on his best imitation of Varian’s stance and voice, and whether it was the magic of the blade or his performance, the newest members of his army seemed as reverent as he’d hoped. 

They stood as one, and the leader who had faced off with Amalia when they charged saluted him, “Your will be done, my King.”

Anduin marched past them to the bone griffins and together with his party mounted them, rising through the air by some strange necromancy until they’d reached the lowest landing of the necropolis. As they neared the ledge, Anduin willed his soldiers to hold whatever forms of ranged attack they could until the first moment they were in the sightline of whatever it was that likely lurked on the landing. Though a bit presumptuous, he assumed the necromancer was likely guarding himself better than he was attacking the rest of the city, and would have a good chunk of reinforcements waiting for them. 

He wasn’t disappointed. A pack of ghouls, likely a dozen at least, swarmed the landing, but as he threw a blast of Penance into the center and his party tossed a few bolts of frost, poison or blood at the hoard, they were quickly reduced to heaps of bone and rotting flesh on the uneven stone. His party landed ahead of him, clearing the space before waving him to land, and as soon as he did they were already heading further into the structure. 

With Captain Amalia at the head of the charge, they crept to the opening to the necropolis proper and surveyed the scene. Not desolate by any means, but not as many as Anduin had feared there would be. Amalia motioned for two of the soldiers, her second and another Anduin did not immediately recognize, to cover their flank as they worked counterclockwise around the circular structure. A lumbering abomination flanked by three geists blocked their way ahead, and Amalia watched them for a moment before closing her eyes in concentration and reaching out her hand. With a start, Anduin realized she was reaching for magic probably for the first time fully consciously and not under Anduin’s direct command, and distantly he wondered if it felt strange for a non-magic user to suddenly acquire the gift.

As he watched, her eyes snapped open with a smug gleam and a cage of ice and chain encased the abomination, preventing it from hooking any of them on the long-chained weapon it carried. The minute the spell was cast, the geists leaped forward, howling and screeching, only for two to be impaled on the Death Knights’ weapons. The final geist made it past Captain Amalia to Anduin and knocked him onto his back. Before anyone had to step in, however, Anduin threw it back with a Penance and plunged his blade through its chest to make it one of his own. 

Amalia helped him up, and they turned together to face the sudden footsteps of troops approaching from behind. Three Death Knights, armed to the teeth, rapidly approached them with a pack of ghouls, and if Anduin’s hearing wasn’t wrong the abomination behind them was pretty close to breaking its chains. 

“You take the abomination with Winters, I’ve got the Knights,” he ordered Amalia, and she nodded, heading toward the abomination with Lieutenant Letitia Winters at her right hand. 

Turning back to the fight at hand, he watched as the head of the three enemy Knights parried a blow from Amalia’s second, using the momentum to impale him through the chest, and he went limp on the blade. Anduin felt the loss in his chest acutely, like some part of him was dying with him, and as the pain of it burned him from the inside out he released a horrifying scream. As he screamed, his power flowed out in a wave, and he watched in horror as the whole pack of ghouls shook with it before popping like ripe zits. The sound echoed through the whole structure, and he was sure nothing in the whole place was unaware of his presence, but that didn’t matter when he had a soldier to avenge.

He charged forward, locking blades with the Knight, and just as he began to feel stuck in the position, staring the man down over their interlocked crossguards, some strange instinct told him to split his sword in two, and as he tried to he was almost shocked when it worked. With his off-hand he took the second half of the blade and plunged it deep into the Knight’s abdomen, feeling a cold satisfaction at his howl of pain. The Knight’s grip slackened and Anduin was able to twist his weapon away, swinging through his neck with a single swipe of his blade in time for the weapon to cling on the cold stone below their feet. 

As the headless body fell backward, Anduin grasped the hilt of his second blade to pull it free, feeling no remorse when the body slumped to the ground, limp. Turning to the remaining two Knights, he was surprised when they stepped backward, dropping their weapons. 

“Do you fight for me, then?” he asked, keeping the authoritative boom to it he’d used before. 

They looked at one another slightly confused as if realizing themselves for the first time. 

“I fight for no one,” said the one on the right, a troll Anduin would guess based on her height and accent, though he couldn’t be sure with the helmet she wore.

Her compatriot nodded, horns on her head giving her away as a tauren “I too find my mind freed from the chains that held it before. What did you do?”

“I am honestly unsure,” Anduin admitted, voice softening despite himself, “Well, if you fight for just yourselves are you my enemies still? Or can we trust you to stay out of our way?”

“That depends. What you doin’ here, mon?” asked the trollish Knight.

“We are,” Anduin paused and glanced over his shoulder as he heard a war cry and watched Amalia jump onto the abomination’s shoulders and plunge her weapon into its skull, “trying to take over. As you can see it’s going fairly well. We will kill the necromancer in charge and then move the necropolis away from the city to keep the citizens safe.”

“If ya be needin’ to move the necropolis…” the woman seemed to weigh her words, “I was the main controller, see, I know how to move it. If ya needed, I suppose I could help ya. You say you be moving it away from a city?”

Anduin paused,  _ Did they not know where they were? _ “Yes, we’re over the city of Stormwind at present. Too many innocents are here that shouldn’t be exposed to this thing’s presence,” he said, motioning to the structure around him. 

The woman opened her mouth to speak but before she could, Captain Amalia appeared beside him, “More approach from the south, my King. Your chatter is lovely but perhaps it can wait.”

“Yes, you’re right,” he replied, nodding to her before turning to the freed Knights, “We must move on. Do not get in our way and we will not harm you.” 

Both nodded their assent, stepping back toward the landing where Anduin’s party had entered, and stood aside as the rest of them took stock of their wounds and Anduin healed everyone as best he could before they continued. He tried as well to raise Amalia’s second to no avail, somehow finding his power limited to raising someone once, at least in such a short period of time. As saddened as he was by the prospect, all they could do for him, for now, was lay him down gently with his weapon and hope to have enough of them still walking after fighting the necromancer to carry him down to the city for burial on their way out. They may all be dead now, but even the dead mourned their lost. 

####    
  
  


####  **_Present time, aboard the Skyfire_ **

_ “You did this to me, Varian,” Arthas snarled, “Don’t you remember?” _

_ “Arthas?” Varian’s mind spun, unsure what he was seeing. Below him lay his friend as he had looked in his youth, decadently blond hair spilling out over the burning and blackened iron of his pauldrons and breastplate. Despite not looking like the Lich King in body, Arthas wore the telltale armour of it.  _

_ Worst of all, Varian was holding him up by Shalamayne which was plunged into his chest to the hilt. Arthas’s blood spilled past the crossguard and wet his fingers where they gripped the weapon, shaking. _

_ “You didn’t come to fight, you didn’t come to my aid even when I prayed to the Light every night that you loved me enough to come. But no, you’d replaced me,” Arthas spat, “You replaced me and forgot me and then when I did what I had to to fight this war alone you came and killed me. Did I have to do all this to gain your attention?” _

_ Varian shook his head, confused. “That isn’t how it happened Arthas. I never replaced you! And that isn’t why I couldn’t help you fight the Third War!” _

_ Arthas laughed an empty, bitter laugh, “Oh isn’t it? And didn’t you? Why love me when you could love that other, sweeter, holier blond in my stead, huh?” _

_ “I never stopped loving you,” Varian whispered, voice shaking with fear and pain. _

_ “But you loved me less.” Arthas scoffed and looked away, tears shining in his eyes. “Replaced by my own blood, no less.” _

_ “Your own blood? What the hell are you talking about, Art?” Varian’s brows drew together, unsure what he was talking about. Had Tiffin secretly been a Menethil? _

_ “Oh come now, I think you know. You accused her of it when he was born but you never trusted yourself enough to consider it after her death.” Arthas smirked, blood trickling down from the corner of his lips. “Nevermind that, come, Varian, give me a kiss. It will be the last we taste.” _

_ Varian reached forward, drawing Arthas in by some instinct he didn’t understand and kissing him deeply. He had intended nothing more than a peck, but the heat and allure of him after so many decades was more enthralling than he’d anticipated and he found himself plunging his tongue into his mouth with fervour. But as he did so, he found Arthas didn’t taste like himself, rather something so forbidden he’d blocked out the memory of the taste until just that moment when it resurfaced.  _

_ Arthas tasted like— No! That couldn’t… it couldn’t be! He couldn’t actually be… _

Varian jolted to consciousness with a gasp and the taste of Arthas’s kiss lingering in his mouth. Leaning over him was Genn, panic in his eyes, and a strange sense of foreboding settled in Varian’s gut.

“We’ve reached Stormwind, Varian, but… Well, you should see it for yourself. I hardly have words for this.”

####    
  
  


####  **_10 minutes before, the Necropolis_ **

Anduin let the body of the Death Knight slip from his blade, willing the wound to bloom with blue fire and make them rise again under his control. His party had found their way to the teleportation pad to the upper level with ease, and once there they’d cleared a room full of abominations and a handful of cultists. They moved onto a third portal that brought them up to the highest chamber, which had open sides lined with partially intact balcony railing and the rest of the necropolis rising above it as a roof. Here, not simply a necromancer but a lich floated, guarded by a group of Death Knights that had fallen now to his own or his soldiers’ blades. 

Turning to face them with a sneer, the lich brought its hands together in a slow, mocking clap. “Well, well, the little Lion of Stormwind graces me with his presence after all.” 

Anduin rolled his eyes. “You encroach on my city and my people, monster. Did you think I would not answer your provocation?” he bellowed, rolling his shoulder and preparing to strike, tiring already of this farce of a conversation. 

That made the lich pause, head cocked. “You are much more like your father than you realize, little Lion. So much more.”

Then, faster than Anduin could register, a blast of ice shot out toward his party, impaling two of his Knights through the chest and agony lanced through his heart at the loss. How was it he felt their deaths so keenly, he wondered, and what did that say about the nature of the magic he was using to resurrect them?

In reply to its attack, Anduin threw a hand forward and released racing tendrils of what would once have been Light, but now was an icy blue flame, from his palm to encase the creature. Once bound, he charged toward it, Amalia and Winters close behind him with the rest of his Knights. They reached the creature just as its bonds broke and it threw another wave of ice shards in their direction, though this time Anduin was prepared. He threw up a shield to block the majority of them, grateful when the few that slipped through didn’t hit anything vital in any of his soldiers. 

With a battle cry, Amalia jumped forward, slashing overhead toward the creature. It dodged out of the way deftly — right into Winters’s blade. She twisted her sword, calling strange poisonous magic to it as she did so that caused the creature to scream. Its pain did not seem to deter it, however, and it blasted Winters with a wave of arcane energy that had her tumbling back dangerously close to the edge of the necropolis. 

Her blade remained lodged in the creature's side and Amalia used that to her advantage, rolling around the creature and angling a kick right into the pommel of the sword. The lich wailed again, and Anduin blasted it with Penance before bringing his twin blades overhead for an icy slash. As he did so, the lich reached out and dug its claws into Amalia’s forearm, making her cry out in agony and Anduin’s strike faltered. He could swear he felt the lich pulling her life out of her through the wound, and he had to shake his head and recenter himself before trying his attack again. 

Thankfully, Winters had recovered from her tumble and was rising slowly, eyes closed in concentration as she did so and Anduin noticed something twitch on the periphery of his vision. Then, with a sudden jolt, three ghouls clawed their way seemingly out of the stone itself and lobbed themselves toward the lich. Anduin threw Winters a grateful smile and repositioned to strike again. 

Meanwhile, his newest Death Knights were split between fighting the lich from its flank, using the ample distraction of Anduin and Amalia to their advantage, and holding the team’s flank when another wave of ghouls and geists charged up at the lich’s call. Strike after strike on the lich, spell after spell, and Anduin could tell it was not going down easy. He summoned more power from his blades, encasing himself in a howling storm of ice and wind and landed a handful of powerful, ice-encrusted strikes into the lich’s side. 

As he fought, he focused healing on Amalia who, though released from the lich’s grasp and still fighting, was visibly drained and struggling. Her magic was still strong when she used it, however, and she summoned a large blood rune under their feet to bolster herself as she fought. Between herself and Winters, it wasn’t too long before the lich started to look damaged, but with that damage came desperation. 

The lich’s spells grew frantic, and just as Anduin was starting to feel hopeful it let out a powerful wave of black necromantic energy that enveloped and consumed three of his newest Knights. Like with Amalia, Anduin could feel their energy being drained, but this time it was to their deaths, no doubt bolstering the lich’s health at the same time. Again Anduin felt agony in his soul at their loss, rage and pain mingling in a mind-fogging way that made him want to scream, but he focused himself this time, focused that rage into something else, and with a massive slash of his blades in tandem, he struck the lich with a wave of blue fire that started to consume it.

He, Amalia and Winters fought on, as did the Knights holding their flank, each successful hit spreading and brightening the blue flames until the whole creature was more akin to a funeral pyre than a lich. Finally, finally, Anduin managed a leap into the air that brought his blades down into the creature’s chest and, with a final howl, it began to disintegrate into ash. 

As it flaked away, its howls of pain formed words, though not ones Anduin understood the meaning of, “Beware your father’s fate, Menethil Lion.”

And with that, it was gone. Breathing hard, Anduin surveyed what remained of those loyal to him, and frowned. Amalia was gravely injured, favouring her left leg and cradling the arm that the lich had grabbed like it was a babe, and Winters didn’t seem to be doing too great. Worse, the newest of his Knights were sundered, either destroyed by the lich’s life drain or torn to shreds by ghouls. The only positive thing Anduin could see was that the armies of the lich seemed to be freed now that it was dead, and though the ghouls and geists approached his party curiously, they did not seem hostile. 

Making to walk to the teleportation pad, Anduin nearly tumbled onto his ass when his legs gave out, grateful for Winters’s intervention keeping him upright. Well, that was inconvenient. Anduin sighed, he didn’t have time to wait for his body to recover now that he wasn’t running on pure adrenaline, but he supposed he would have to. 

As if reading his mind, Winters spoke, “You should rest, my king. You’ve done a lot today that your body is unused to.”

“Are you saying I’m not fit, Winters?” he joked, letting her lower him back to the ground so he could sit.

“Of course I would never slander my king,” she replied sarcastically and winked. 

Then, something occurred to Anduin. “I… Winters, is your will your own?” 

She cocked her head. “Yes, it has been since you Wailed earlier. I think you released all of us then. I can still feel your will, but I am not bound by it any longer.”

“But… but you’re still here? You still fought with me, helped me. Why?” he asked. He’d expected them to hate him for what he did to them, for bringing them into this unholy state of being, and yet Winters and Amalia were both looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

“We can feel your will, my King, and the desires behind it. You wanted to save the city, preserve the lives of your citizens and children, keep your people safe. Your goals were noble, you are noble, and as we chose to serve in life so we choose to serve in death,” Amalia explained, “It is… strange though that somehow the allegiance I feel to you is beyond any I felt to Stormwind, or to your father, or the Alliance. That aspect of this I cannot explain. But, to answer your initial question, we are free of your control and choose to be with you rather than being forced to.” 

Anduin nodded, grateful for her explanation. “That brings me some comfort at least. Still, I know not what I’m becoming.”

Amalia gave him a sympathetic smile, “Nor do we. I suppose we’ll have to figure that out together.”

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” he replied, giving her a genuine smile, “I wish I could return to the city but I don’t think that will be possible yet. Could you bring me those to Death Knights I spared earlier, I’d like to find out about moving this thing away from the city.”

“Yes, that would be best. I will go find them. Winters, you should head down to the city and inform our guard of what happened and assess the hostility of the remaining scourge. I don’t like the idea of mixing them with our people, but if the Legion is invading, an army of ghouls and abominations would be helpful to defend us while our soldiers are away,” Amalia instructed, and Winters stood to salute first her, then Anduin, before heading out. “I’ll make sure we can get this thing away from Stormwind quickly, my king, worry not. I am curious though, where do you intend to take it?”

Anduin thought for a moment, and some strange instinct closed around his heart with a soul-deep yearning, “Tirisfal, it's time to take back what is rightfully ours.” 

And as he spoke the words he knew they were true, and that it was what he needed to do. He would take his army to Lordaeron and reclaim what belonged to the Alliance, and if he faced opposition from Sylvanas he would get rid of her. She was no Menethil, what right did she have to that throne? And if the Legion attacked them there, he would slaughter them too. Light, Anduin realized that he didn’t even fear them any longer and that confidence almost scared him, but it also filled him with hope: he had the power now to fight for peace, and bring it to all by uniting them under his banner. He could be the true force of peace the world needed; after all, no one went to war when they all served the one true King.

####    
  
  


####  **_Present time, aboard the Skyfire_ **

Varian watched in horror as the necropolis slowly disappeared on the northern horizon. Scourge still swarmed the city, and for all he wished they had the strength to fight them, he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Worst of all, the castle seemed to be overrun by a whole new type of Death Knight unlike any they’d seen before — the druid that had flown down to inspect had reported them to be wearing light blue sashes over, in most cases, Stormwind guard armour and standing in an easy manner that was unusual for the scourge, and also that upon noticing the spy very nearly eviscerated him with stronger magic than he’d seen in the past. 

That same druid also reported, strangely, that something seemed to be wrong with the citizens, and that many of them were trickling out of the cathedral and returning to their homes with scourge escorts, though neither seemed hostile to one another. It seemed this new invasion was turning their guards and soldiers at a faster rate than before and perhaps mind-controlling the citizenry, or at the least using the friendly faces of guards and trusted military figures to convince them they were not in danger. A strange tactic for the scourge indeed. 

However it was happening, he knew it needed to be stopped, and also knew in some deep part of his soul that the answer was not only in the necropolis but in the person he suspected was there. “And you’re sure you didn’t see the prince either among the bodies or the risen?” he asked the druid again.

“I’m confident he was nowhere within the city, my liege,” the man replied apologetically. “Truly I looked everywhere. Perhaps he escaped?”

Varian shook his head, “Unlikely, knowing my son. He would not have run when he thought he could help his people even if it brought his own death, something we seem to have in common.”

With a sigh, he headed for the control deck. If anyone, any ship, could catch up to a necropolis and overtake it, it was Rogers and the Skyfire. It would seem the battle wasn’t over after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, kudos and comments mean the world. Love y'all ❤❤❤


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Skyfire continues to tail the necropolis and when Anduin attacks the Undercity, someone slips through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly edited but there are probably a few mistakes. Please pay attention to timestamps for the sections!
> 
> C/W: there is minor character suicide in this chapter via Blightcaller's Easy Death! It is mildly graphic, in fact all the violence in this chapter is fairly graphic, but I do want to clarify that her death is in a battlefield scenario and a way to avoid service/capture to someone she opposes, not out of suicidal thought or ideation. I will not be tagging it because of this difference, just to be clear, but I wanted to warn for it. 
> 
> Additional c/w: dismemberment or near dismemberment in multiple sections.

####  _ Saturday, 16:00, aboard the Skyfire; Varian _

Varian gazed out the window of the captain’s cabin and office belowdecks and tried to see where the necropolis apparently loomed through the fog. Visibility had been low since they’d reached Hilsbrad and though that made finding their quarry difficult, it at least kept them hidden from the various Horde troops that likely guarded the regions below them. Despite the danger doing so posed, Rogers had insisted on taking them through the cloud cover to avoid detection from the necropolis which, if their druidic scouts were to be believed, was being circled by bone griffin-riding Death Knights keeping a perimeter in the air. 

“Where do you think they’re going?” Jaina asked, taking a seat next to him and handing him a warm cup of coffee. There wasn’t any way to heat water in the kitchen, which meant she’d heated it herself with magic, bless her. 

Varian took the mug, warming his chilled hands on it. “It’s hard to say but I suspect they make for Lordaeron. If I were leading the scourge right now, I would want to punish the one that got away before anything else.”

Jaina hummed, “And who do you think leads them? Surely it must be someone immensely powerful for them to not only overtake Stormwind but do so by a combination of strength and guile.”

“Yes, their using our troops to foster trust in the citizens is a smart tactic and not one I’m quite sure I know how to combat,” Varian admitted, “I have a suspect in mind but the thought breaks me to consider. I’m sure you’ll suspect it too if you think on it.”

Jaina cocked her head, considering. Then with a droop to her shoulders and furrowed brows, she sighed. “Is he his son, then?” 

“I believe so. I had a dream while I was out… I’m not one to pray for the guidance of gods but I think Goldrinn may have been guiding me with it. Arthas was there. He…” Varian clenched his jaw at the memory. “He implied Anduin was of his blood. That Anduin was his son.”

“I hate how easy that is to believe,” Jaina replied softly. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing her fingers between his, evidently seeking comfort. “I don’t know if I have it in me to lose him twice.”

“Me neither, but I think we’ll have to.” Varian took a shuddering breath, tears pricking his eyes. “I love him more than anything in this world, but if he is becoming what I think he’s becoming…”

“It’s better to stop him before he makes himself an irredeemable monster,” Jaina finished for him when he couldn’t bear to bring the words to his lips. 

Anduin, his beloved whom he had nearly broken at the loss of so many times now. Anduin, who had barely survived the Bell and had recovered only by the grace of a Light Varian had no faith in but what faith he had in Anduin himself. Anduin, who held his heart in his hands even if he didn’t know it. Anduin, who Varian loved far beyond how a father should love his son.

He’d been disgusted to realize, upon reflection, that he was relieved that Anduin was Arthas’s child, if for no other reason than it excused his highly inappropriate feelings toward the young man. Yet he also deeply feared what that might mean, what tainted intention and love of his people might have been passed down to him. Damn it all to the void, was he truly to kill the love of his life for his own good? Was that truly the future fate held for him?

Setting his coffee aside, he pulled Jaina into a hug and buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and rose from her shampoo and letting himself sink into the comfort of his friend’s closeness. 

She hugged him back tightly despite her slenderness, and Varian was grateful for the strength in the embrace. “I love him too, Varian. I loved  _ him, _ too. I know how hard this is for you.”

She didn’t, couldn’t, know the depth of his love for Anduin, and likely she only suspected the nature of his relationship with Arthas, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. A cleared throat forced him to pull away, looking to the doorway where the Sky-Admiral stood, looking tense. 

“I’ve a report, my liege. The necropolis is officially heading for Lordamere lake in the direction of the Undercity. Should we move to intercept?”

Varian considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, a loss of Sylvana’s troops will not hinder our interests. Better to let her wear him down first.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jaina asked, pulling out of his embrace enough to look him in the eye, “If he has any of the power Arthas did he’ll be able to convert her people to fight against us. Should we risk that?”

“Probably not, in all honesty, but we don’t have the strength,  _ I  _ don’t have the strength, to take him on at present,” Varian explained, “Rogers how far away are our reinforcements?”

“About a day until they catch up with us.”

“We’ll wait until they arrive to strike — if we’re lucky he’ll wear himself down in besieging the Undercity, or at the least, we’ll be able to strike and take the necropolis while he’s distracted.” As he said it he knew it was a fool’s hope, but also the only hope they had.

Rogers cocked her head, squinting, “Might I ask, my king, do you know the identity of this leader? You have a stronger grasp on  _ his _ intentions and actions that I’d expected.”

“I have my suspicions, Rogers, but don’t worry yourself with that. Keep us in sight-range as we follow them and hopefully we can catch up with our reinforcements at the right time to strike.”

  
  


####  _ Meanwhile, 8 kilometres north of Brill; Anduin _

“You’re sure they didn’t see us leave?” Anduin asked, dismounting his bone griffin and holding the communication crystal up so he could peer into it better.

“Fully confident, my king. The Skyfire continues to tail us at a safe distance. I’m assuming they would have given chase if they’d noticed your departure,” Winters replied from the crystal, which showed just the littlest hint of the large meeting chamber behind her where she waited with the remainder of his forces for the Skyfire’s attack. They’d been slowly sending Death Knights off a handful at a time, using the clouds for cover so that the ship pursuing them hadn’t caught wind of it, and as Anduin looked over his assembled troops he was impressed by how well Winters’s plan had worked. 

“Good. Keep an eye on them and make sure you’re ready for their attack when they choose to strike. I should warn you, my father and likely King Greymane are on that ship if my intuition is correct, perhaps others of equal calibre. It will not be an easy battle without me present.” He continued walking toward the freshly promoted Highlord Amalia as he finished his conversation with Winters, “Do not underestimate them and avoid engagement if you can. I want you all alive, no death and glory missions yet.”

“Understood, my king. We’ll keep a low profile and wait for their attack. Perhaps we’ll be able to lure them or split them up when they attack to increase our chances,” Winters replied, and Anduin smiled at that. 

“If there’s anything you’ve proven to me thus far, Winters, it’s that you know how to trick your opponent with the tools at hand, I trust you’ll lead our people out of this one safely,” he said, “But one other thing. If it’s possible, I would ask that you don’t kill my father or Genn, or any other leaders that accompany them. I know that will make it more difficult, but if they die it will make it harder for me to convince their people I mean them well.”

In the stone, Anduin saw Winters salute. “Of course, my king. I will endeavour to capture them rather than kill them. Who knows, perhaps they’ll be reasonable?” 

Anduin laughed, glad for the levity, “Just be safe and don’t take any unnecessary risks. Thank you, Winters, you’re dismissed.”

She saluted again and the connection fizzled out, leaving the crystal in his hand nothing more than a chunk of purple rock. Anduin came to a stop next to Highlord Amalia and found her smiling, looking off in the distance a little.

“She seems in a good mood,” she commented, turning her head and nodding to him. 

“I would be too if I’d come up with a plan that worked this brilliantly,” Anduin replied.

“True. I’ve been meaning to speak with you about her, actually. I was hoping to make her my second in Carson’s absence.” A shadow passed over her features at the mention of her lost soldier, but she recovered quickly, meeting his eyes with a hopeful smile.

“Of course, Highlord, whatever you decide is best, I will allow it. Winters has more than proven herself thus far and if you think she would be an appropriate second you have my blessing to promote her.”

Amalia bowed. “Thank you, my king,” she said, “Now, onto business. Reports from scouting parties confirm that the Dark Lady is absent from the Undercity along with a number of her honour guard and Dark Rangers. Intelligence suggests they’ve moved to Orgrimmar for the time being to lead the Horde while Vol’jin recovers. As such, defences are quite thin within the city itself, though there are a decent amount of deathguards around and Dark Rangers as well.”

“What of Brill? How well defended is it?” Anduin asked, an idea forming in his mind.

“Rather poorly, as it so happens. They have a number of guards but none of the same calibre as the Undercity itself, or our troops for that matter. Brill would be easy to take, though it is also easy to besiege and would be hard to hold onto.”

Anduin nodded, plan finally solidifying in his mind. “That’s fine, we don’t need to hold it. Order the least stealthy of our troops to march on Brill, make a show of it. Meanwhile, the rest of us will sneak around to the sewer entrance and prepare for an attack there. All we need is to distract the main forces long enough that we can get to the citizens inside, then it shouldn’t be hard to convince them to bow.”

Amalia cocked an eyebrow. “I mean no disrespect, my king, but our fealty to you comes from years of knowing you to be a good prince. These people have no such experience.”

“Perhaps not, but if my suspicions are correct there’s little they want more than to be reunited with those they’ve been separated from when Sylvanas joined the Horde. I can offer them reconnection with the Alliance, while not expecting them to join its ranks again,” Anduin explained, “Plus, this land rightfully belongs to the Alliance, if they are true children of Lordaeron they will understand that it should be ruled by one of their own. If they don’t, it won’t take much of a show of power to convince them they’re better off joining us then fighting us.”

Amalia grimaced. “Killing citizens…”

“Is not something I would do nor something I ask of anyone else. There will be guards and soldiers around to fight, I’m sure cutting them down to size will be enough to convince the citizens not to oppose us, though I would much rather lead through respect than fear,” Anduin reassured her, though he wasn’t sure she was the only one that needed it as even just saying the words made him feel better. He wasn’t sure what he was becoming, but he would not turn into Arthas, that he vowed to himself. 

  
  


####  _ Friday, 17:00, Nessusus, the Citadel of Inevitable Ruin; Amalia _

“How bad?” Amalia asked, looking up at Winters without looking at her arm as best she could. The pain had abated in her hand and wrist but she got the sense that was a bad rather than good sign given that she couldn’t feel anything there at all. 

Winters bit her lip and shook her head. She reached next to her for something and when her hand returned to Amalia’s vision she was holding a belt. “Bite down on this and look away,” she instructed, face grim. 

Amalia opened her mouth and took a grip on the belt with her teeth, turning her head away as she’d been told to. She heard the unsheathing of a blade and what sounded like a murmured apology before a brilliant pain shot up her arm and shoulder and she screamed, vision going black.

When the world came back to her, Winters was on her other side watching her carefully as someone bandaged what was left of her arm. She looked over and saw the king there, carefully wrapping the stump that ended just above the elbow in clean bandages.  _ At least it wasn’t my dominant arm, _ she thought, then realized that most of her training was in two-handed weapons and she would need to relearn fighting anyway. With a sigh, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to deal with this now, there were important things to do, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have to. 

“Thank you for patching me up, my king,” she said, voice hoarse from screaming she didn’t remember doing.

“Don’t worry about it, Captain Park, I need my future Highlord back in commission if we’re to get anything done around here,” King Anduin said, patting her on the shoulder above the severed limb. 

“Highlord?” she asked, cracking an eye open to look at him.

“Yes, you performed incredibly during the protection of Stormwind and I’d thought to promote you. I know there are a lot of changes being made around here, many thanks to you and Winters’s quick thinking and good planning, but I think a little bit of tradition never hurt either,” he replied, smiling at her again, “Highlord is an esteemed position and one I think you more than deserve.”

“My king, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but I can hardly fight like this. Nevermind lead our troops, I’m barely fit to be amongst their ranks,” she argued, but Anduin simply shook his head.

“You’re forgetting that many generals don’t go out to the battles themselves, and even if you are on the battlefield I doubt you’re as useless as you’re making yourself sound. I’ve healed the wound for the most part, and though it may give you a bit of grief you’re welcome to start training as soon as you feel ready,” Anduin said, then turned and pulled something out from a pile of things behind him, bringing it into her sightline, “Also, as a gift for and sign of your new rank, I had this crafted for you while you were out.”

He was holding a blade in his hands, in an ornately carved and decorated sheath, and when he unsheathed the blade her heart stopped — or would have had she had a heartbeat to begin with. It was glorious, gleaming and polished obsidian with faintly glowing red runes carved along its single edge. Anduin swept the blade through the air quickly before turning it to hand to her hilt-first.

“A blade befitting the Highlord of the Nessusi, I should think. It has no name yet, I leave that to you,” he said, handing the sword over when she reached for it. 

For a moment, Amalia was speechless, but soon she regained her tongue, “Thank you, my king, you honour me more than I can ever repay. I will get to my training right away.”

“There is nothing to repay, Amalia,” Anduin said softly, “And if you wish, I’m sure the troops would enjoy thinking they can beat you simply because you lost an arm. Winters did an incredible job of recruiting and as it stands we have a large number of new Knights that have joined us here on Nessusus. I think you would be the perfect person to lead the training efforts. We don’t have long before we reach Tirisfal and I would like everyone as prepared as possible for that by the time we get there, so the sooner you are able to begin the better.”

“Of course, my king. I’d be happy to lead the troops in their training,” she replied, attempting out of habit to raise herself up on her now-amputated arm and cursing softly as she shifted to use her other instead. This would take some getting used to. 

“My king, if I may, I had an idea about Tirisfal that I wished to speak with you about,” Winters was saying as she guided Anduin out of the room, and Amalia was grateful for being left to her struggles alone. 

  
  


####  _ Saturday, 17:30, the entrance to the Undercity Sewers; Anduin _

Anduin put his pocket watch away and nodded to Amalia. It was time, and whether the troops they’d sicked on Brill had succeeded in drawing enough of the Undercity’s forces away yet was irrelevant to the fact that they needed to advance before someone got wise and predicted their move. The sewer reeked, though what specifically it reeked of Anduin couldn’t figure given that very few of the city's denizens had need for any form of sewage system. 

The massive pipe they crept through was limned with the telltale green of plague and strange mushrooms grew here and there seemingly out of nothing. Keeping their footsteps as quiet as possible, the small scouting party Anduin led continued toward the Undercity until they came to a crossroads, a large pipe continuing forward a number of feet off the ground with a smaller hallway to the right. Anduin quickly calculated, and knew that while going both directions would make them harder to flank, there was no way they were going to climb into the pipe without making a racket, and then flanking would be the least of their worries. With a nod of his head, he directed the party to the hallway. 

It was hardly wide enough for them to go two at a time, so he sent Sven — a black-furred worgen Rogue who’d been in Stormwind recovering from an illness at the time of the invasion — ahead of himself and Amalia to keep a keen eye out, knowing he was stealthier than the majority of them by leagues. Not long after they’d started down the hallway, Sven raised a hand to have them pause and all but disappeared from sight, slipping into stealth. A moment later, Anduin heard a heavy thump and started forward again, rounding a corner to see Sven standing over a knocked out or perhaps dead abomination that had been standing guard. 

Sven moved his hands in a language Anduin had been taught by Shaw and knew was used by Rogues and spies to communicate silently. “All clear,” he said.

“Is it dead or just unconscious?” he replied, hoping his gauntlets didn’t make him too hard to understand.

“Dead,” Sven said, “Likely more further on. I’ll go on ahead, keep a distance but stay close in case I need help.”

Anduin nodded. “Understood. Be careful.”

Sven saluted, and once again disappeared from view to scout ahead of the main party. Anduin only prayed he didn’t run into any Plaguehounds, he’d heard they could see through stealth. 

Anduin led the party at a slow pace, coming across downed abominations along the way that Sven had clearly dispatched until they reached the opening into the Undercity proper. Peering around, Anduin saw no sign of Sven, though that he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected, was to see no sign of  _ anyone. _ He felt a presence next to him and nearly drew steel before Sven reappeared with his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Sorry to alarm you, majesty,” he whispered, voice soft, “It seems they’re anticipating an attack from Brill now that we’ve taken it, and have shored up their defences for an attack from Lordaeron keep. The civilians are being brought into the Royal Quarter for safekeeping and a large regiment of Dark Rangers and other soldiers hold the Trade Quarter currently.”

“How many are set aside to defend the civilians?” Anduin asked, calculating. 

“Not many, though there is a complication, my king,” Sven replied, “Blighcaller must have returned to gather his Dark Rangers or something because he’s here and the one guarding the citizens.”

Anduin almost snorted at the image of Blightcaller defending citizens, but he supposed it wasn’t so out of character. “You’re sure the Banshee Queen is absent, though?” he asked. Blightcaller he could deal with today, Sylvanas not so much. 

“Confident, my king. There is no sign of her nor any mention of her presence. That said, the numbers in the Trade Quarter are substantial and this small group would be no match,” Sven reported.

“A good thing we don’t need to match them, then. Sven, I need you to return to the sewer entrance and get the rest of our troops. March them through the sewers loudly enough to be heard but not so loudly it’s obvious. If you can, I want the soldiers in the Trade Quarter to think we’re trying and failing at being stealthy. Also, we are banking on them not knowing who we are and where we come from, play up being mindless scourge if you can on the off chance you have to engage for a prolonged period before I can convince the citizens to join us,” Anduin instructed, “While you distract most of the troops I’ll take this team into the Royal Quarter and try to convince the citizens we aren’t a threat to their way of life. If all goes well, taking down Blightcaller should be a good enough display of power and from there the rest of the army will either flee or submit. Let’s hope we’re lucky.”

Sven bowed. “I will do as you’ve ordered. Good luck, my king.”

“Go with my blessing, Sven. And be careful.” 

And with that Sven was off, heading down the hallway toward where they’d left a large portion of the troops not sieging Brill in the forests outside the sewer entrance. Anduin surveyed the remainder of his small team, no more than 12 he counted, and nodded to himself. Hopefully that was enough to take down Blightcaller and his team without alerting the whole city to their presence. 

Exchanging a look with Amalia, they led the party in tandem down the steps and along the curved wall that made up the outermost portion of the canal regions of the city toward the entrance to the Royal Quarter. He’d conferred with some of the ex-Horde members of his army and gotten a decent layout of the city in advance of his attack, and if their recollections were correct, the Apothecary Quarter and Royal Quarter beyond it was just ahead. As they approached, he knew he was in the right place when he saw the telltale outline of a Dark Ranger partially hidden in the shadows of the hallway ahead. 

Drawing his blade, he reached out with his magic and pulled her rapidly toward him, letting the blade sink into her chest with a wet thunk before consuming her with blue fire. As the blade drew out of her chest, she scrambled back, eyes frantic. 

“What have you done to me?” she hissed, clearly terrified.

“I have removed the taint of the old scourge from you, you are free to act as you will, though I warn you if you act against us we will not hesitate to tear you down,” Anduin replied, hating that his words were the truth.

“But you would dislike it. It would hurt you to hurt me,” she said, certainty clinging to her words in a way that made Anduin nervous. “My death would bring you pain, wouldn’t it?”

Anduin sighed. “Yes, it takes a part of my essence to cleanse you and thus it feels like a part of me dies when those I save are lost.”

The Dark Ranger grinned. “Good,” she sneered, “We will never serve another Lich King. Glory to the Dark Lady.”

And before Anduin could think to stop her, she downed a small vial of black liquid and instantly began to convulse as her body dissolved from the inside out. Once again Anduin felt like part of his soul was being ripped apart, and he had to hold onto Amalia’s shoulder for support as the woman before him killed herself.  _ She prefers death at her own hand than serving me, _ he realized, hating himself for how naive he’d been to think this would be easy. 

Amalia gripped him around the waist to help hold him up, though Anduin also found the action comforting. “They won’t all be this difficult, my king. Most people wish to keep their lives above all else, principle or freedom be damned.”

It was a soothing thought, though only by a little. Anduin had so desperately hoped that he could convince these people to follow him through goodwill and hope for a better future rather than fear, but he supposed that may have to come in due time for all he wished it could be the immediate reality of his rule. Standing on his own again, he shook off his doubts as best he could and motioned his party forward. This would not be the last obstacle in his path to ultimate peace, but he was determined to build an empire of peace no matter what or who stood in his way. 

####  _ Meanwhile, the Royal Quarter; Nathanos _

Nathanos felt his connection to Anya snap and his eyes opened, meeting Lenara’s across the opening to the Royal Quarter where they crouched in wait for the intruders. He’d doubted they would be so brazen as to simply march on Lordaeron Keep after taking Brill and knew there had to be an alternative scheme at play. He’d chosen to let them think they were winning by drawing his troops away from the sewer entrance and planning a signal to flank when the remainder of whoever’s forces these were either attacked him here or Alina where she and her team were waiting in the Trade Quarter. He and Lenara drew in tandem, ready for the attack, but just as he was starting to hear the faintest hint of boots marching down the long hallway that led to Sylvanas’s throne room, the signalling stone went off in his breast pocket. 

_ Well, fuck. _ Somehow these people had managed to split their forces as well, meaning that both he and Alina were on their own for now.  _ Fine, _ he thought to himself,  _ If you want something done right and all that. _ He mouthed to Lenara that they weren’t getting back up, and he readied an arrow for the first sight of the attackers. 

Behind him, he heard the remainder of the Rangers he’d taken with him as well as a handful of Deathstalkers draw their weapons in preparation, but he found himself frozen in place when the approaching hostiles came into view, led by none other than Anduin Wrynn, heir apparent to the throne of Stormwind. Well, that was certainly an unexpected twist. He heard the loosing of an arrow and was grateful for the fact that Lenara had not faltered at the sight of her quarry as it flew past Anduin’s head and hit the soldier behind him between the eyes, causing her to crumple to the ground. As the soldier fell, Nathanos noticed Anduin seemed to shake as if her death pained him, and he felt a smile grow on his face — whatever the little lion had become, he was still a sentimental fool, and that would work to Nathanos’s advantage. 

Aiming his own bow, Nathanos shot the woman directly to Anduin’s right, frowning when the arrow shattered uselessly against a magical shield. Damn. Nathanos whistled a note and his Rangers moved into a new formation, ready to pick off the troops as they marched, but just as Nathanos prepared them to utilize the chokepoint, they were all blown back by a wave of icy magic that had half of them tumbling away from the hallway in heaps. As the magic faded, Nathanos got his bearings enough to back up and away from the rapidly approaching line of soldiers, led by a pleased looking Anduin. Perhaps Nathanos had underestimated him after all. 

As Anduin charged in, Nathanos got a good look at the blade he held for the first time and something deep in his soul cried out— though logically he knew it could not be Frostmourne, the similarities between this blade and the one that had cut down his Queen were striking. Worse yet, Lenara had not been fast enough to get away from Anduin as he rushed in and Nathanos watched in horror as the little lion impaled her from behind, her body going up in blue flames briefly before she rose again, turning to look at Anduin with something akin to reverence and joined him in his advance. Nathanos knew, then, that whatever he did he would have to die by some other’s hand so that he could not be taken by this magic. He would not be a slave to the scourge again. Never again. 

Footing regained and feeling emboldened by his newfound resolve, Nathanos leaped backwards and fired a scatter of arrows into the line of Anduin’s soldiers, snagging one through the temple and another through the knee. He fired arrow after arrow into the group of soldiers, counting about 10 of Anduin’s remaining aside from the man himself, but the problem was that for every one he took down, another was turned from his own troops in their stead. 

Suddenly, he felt eyes on him and turning to look he noticed Anduin setting his sights on him. Not wanting that fate, Nathanos abandoned his bow for the handaxes he kept at his sides and dove into the line of Anduin’s soldiers. His approach did not go unnoticed and he ducked one strike, rolled out of the way of a blast of frost, and parried another blow on his way to his feet all before he was even able to make an attack of his own. But attack he did, and when he struck, he struck true. 

His handaxe crunched into the Death Knight before him’s collar bone, and he drew the other around to sever the man’s neck. As the body crumpled before him, he spun out of the way of an adjacent Knight’s blade, only to nearly run straight into the strike of another. He feinted high then dropped, chopping into the Knight before him’s knee, the lower half of the leg collapsing and unable to hold her up. As she listed to the side, fighting for balance, Nathanos turned and with the uncanny aim that had landed him in the Farstriders so many years ago, he threw one handaxe straight into the forehead of the Knight behind him. 

Spinning back around, he ended the broken-kneed Knight’s misery with a swift strike to the throat, watching her half-severed head roll back as she faded from existence. He quickly retrieved the axe he’d thrown from the Knight behind him’s skull and tried to take a quick stock of the battle. They were losing, badly, and though he didn’t want to, he admitted to himself that there was no hope of saving the city. The civilians, what he could see of them where they cowered and clustered to the back of the chamber and into the hallways beyond, seemed unharmed, and so long as Anduin did not intend to slaughter them — which seemed unlikely given his re-raising of most of Nathanos’s soldiers — then they were better off left here for now until Nathanos could get a larger troop to retake the city with. Sylvanas would be displeased, hell he almost thought being taken by Anduin’s magic would be a less painful existence than what she likely had in store for him after this failure, but he would not betray her no matter the pain service to her brought him. 

And with that knowledge weighing heavy on him, Nathanos did the one thing he’d perfected in all those long years in the Plaguelands: he dropped to the ground and played dead. The battle went on around him, and he had to fight every instinct that told him to defend his soldiers, to fight with them to the bitter end, to not give up on them and lead them even if it was ultimately to their deaths, and blessedly the fight was over sooner rather than later. He hated that he saw that as a blessing, but he did nonetheless.

When the fighting was over, all of Nathanos’s soldiers presumably dead or turned to Anduin’s side, Anduin walked up the steps to the platform that Sylvanas usually held court from and once again Nathanos had to bite down his instinct to act in defence of her hard-earned place. Anduin was speaking to the assembled citizens, something about how he, as the True King, was the rightful ruler of the Eastern Kingdoms and how he would bring the Forsaken to a new future where they were respected and seen as equals. He preached about the future of Azeroth, and peace, and reuniting families separated by first the Scourge and then later by Sylvanas’s joining the Horde, and though Nathanos saw the flaws to the boy’s ideas, he knew after the display of power he’d made that it would be more than enough to sway the Forsaken. They had been called monsters for too long not to jump at the first sign of a leader who not only did not see them as such but also wished for them not to see themselves as such. 

As the citizens agreed to join Anduin’s ranks, a handful of the more esteemed citizens stepping forward and introducing themselves to their new king personally, a new set of footsteps entered and by the sound of them, everything Nathanos feared Anduin could be was proven true. The softness of the pads coupled with the click of nails told him this could be nothing other than a worgen, yet the man spoke with the scratch of death in his voice that Nathanos knew intimately could not be brought about by a Val’kyr’s magic. Anduin was a Lich King, perhaps  _ the _ Lich King, though how that came to be he couldn’t figure. Nonetheless, this worgen man was confirming the defeat of Alina and her troops and offering to have the bodies taken from this chamber and clean it up for Anduin’s use. 

“That won’t be necessary, Sven,” Anduin said, “This chamber does not belong to me and when — well, if — I convince Sylvanas to join our effort I would not want her to think I contaminated her throne room with my presence any longer than needed. Could you collect what remains of the city’s armies and bring them to Brill, I’d like to initiate them into my service.”

“Yes, my king,” the dog, Sven, replied and headed back out of the chamber. 

“And you there, Dark Ranger, I’m sorry I did not catch your name,” Anduin addressed someone else that Nathanos couldn’t see with his eyes closed as they were.

“Lenara,” she replied, and a chill went down Nathanos’s spine at hearing her speak. One of his prized student, one of his best, now an enemy and a traitor to their Queen. 

“Lenara,” Anduin parrotted, “Could you help with the cleaning of this room? I would like to see it restored to how it was before our… well, before the citizens were holed up in here and everything became such a mess. Would you be able to lead that effort?”

“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to,” he heard her reply, “What of the bodies, my king? Are they to be disposed of?” 

“The ones that came in as part of my forces, unfortunately, yes. I am unable to raise someone twice. However, those that fell to blades other than my own but were originally part of your forces I’d like to have set aside so that I can bring them back when my power replenishes itself. In fact, if you find Blightcaller I think he would be a fantastic addition to our forces.” 

“Yes, my king. I’ll have the room cleaned up, the citizenry returned to their homes, and the bodies organized for farewells or resurrection,” Lenara confirmed, and he heard the clinking of her armour that meant she was saluting. Damn her, the traitor.

Nathanos tried to plan then, tried to figure out how he was going to escape or, barring that, what he was going to do about being resurrected. He wasn’t sure whether the conversion was fully willing or not, though he hadn’t seen Anya come in with Anduin’s soldiers so presumably there was some choice in it even if that choice was death. 

As people started filing out of the Royal Quarter, Nathanos remained still and dead on the ground, thankful in a strange and roundabout way for all the times he’d had to play dead in the past for giving him the patience and resolve to stay perfectly still. Eventually, two carts were wheeled in and bodies started being dropped onto them. Nathanos knew his hope of escape was quickly dwindling when he was tossed onto one of the piles, the sharp edges of armour beneath him and then quickly thereafter piled on top of him making it all the harder to remain still. The cart moved through the city, out what he could tell from the echoing of the cart’s wheels was the sewer entrance and onto the soft earth of the surrounding wood. Just as his prospects became bleak and the cart stopped, however, something occurred to him that was immediately confirmed by the people wheeling the cart.

“Shame to lose so many good Knights, eh? Wish I’d been there to help them fight,” said someone nearby, androgynous voice scratched with death.

“Yeah, it’s a shame we were stuck in Brill the whole time, looks like they could really have used us down there,” replied another, with a higher voice that rang musically despite the undead nature of her voice box. “Nonetheless, I’m sure the king had reason for his orders, he hasn’t wronged us before. Let’s get to digging and then we can work on identifying the bodies after. I don’t know if I have the stomach to do that part right away.”

“Agreed,” said the other Knight, and their footsteps faded as they walked into the woods a little ways. 

_ Lenara, _ Nathanos thought quietly,  _ If I had a god to pray to I’d ask them to protect you.  _ She had not betrayed him, and not only that but she had given him a way out. As quietly as he could, he slipped out from under the body above him, wincing as his flesh caught against its armour and tore, but he persevered and managed to wiggle himself free and hop down onto the damp earth silently. Knowing he didn’t have long, he made for the woods where at the least he would have cover and headed as quickly as he could toward Silverpine. It wouldn’t be long before the Forsaken there were taken over as well, and he needed to beat Anduin’s troops there if he was going to get a bat and, with any luck, make it to Silvermoon where he could warn them about the encroaching threat. 

  
  


####  _ Saturday, 19:00, aboard the Skyfire; Jaina _

“My liege, riders to the northeast!” Rogers shouted over the engines, and Jaina rushed to the rail in tandem with Varian. 

Distantly she could make out a series of hooded figures through the mist riding what appeared to be bats.  _ Dark Rangers _ , she thought and exchanged a glance with Varian.

“If those are what I think they are then we’ve likely been duped. Tell our reinforcements to hold, we need to send someone after those riders,” Varian ordered.

Jaina squinted, then caught sight of one rider to the southwest, alone, coming from somewhere in Silverpine but heading in the same direction. It was a long shot, but they were closer to the ship and if she was lucky they knew the same information. Watching until they were just in range, she shouted, “I’ve got it!” and teleported herself to meet them midair. 

As she apparated in the saddle behind them, the bat dipped under her added weight and she heard them curse in Gutterspeak. It took less than a second for her to recognize the person who she’d jumped as the Blightcaller, and mildly regretting getting ahead of herself — if she brought this one back to the ship Genn might just kill him before they got any information — but she’d committed and she wasn’t backing down. She dug her nails into his armour where she clung to him as he tried to wrestle her off and, concentrating on where she knew the ship to be, she teleported them both onto the deck. 

It was never an easy thing, teleporting someone against their will, but her willpower was strong and as she mentally dragged Nathanos through the ether to the Skyfire she was grateful he knew better than to struggle once the spell had taken hold — the last thing either of them needed was for it to cut out halfway there and leave them plummeting through the air from hundreds of feet up. They reappeared on the deck with a crash, the forceful nature of the spell making it a less than delicate landing, and she rolled Blightcaller onto his back, straddling his chest, and summoned a spike of ice right at his temple before he could do anything against her. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, grasping his throat with her spare hand and digging her nails into his flesh. 

“Proudmore,” he sneered, twitching beneath her but seeming to know better than to outright move. They both knew she wouldn’t hesitate to put an icicle through his skull.

Varian had turned from the rail the minute they’d appeared on the deck and had Shalamayne drawn and ready, though he was mostly relaxed in posture. “What were you doing, Blightcaller? Why were you in Silverpine?” 

Blightcaller barked a laugh, voice bitter, “Other than fleeing from your son after he laid siege to the Undercity and converted the half of my army he didn’t leave dead to his ‘cause,’ you mean? Nice job raising a second Arthas, by the way. Wonderful parenting on your part, Wrynn.” 

Jaina froze, and she could feel the tension radiating from Varian behind her. He started to ask another question but was cut off by a bellowed, “BLIGHTCALLER!” as Genn rushed up from belowdecks in full worgen form, snarling. 

Well, that was inconvenient. With a sigh and a vague memory of trying to separate Varian and Garrosh once upon a time, Jaina changed the spell in her hand for freezing chains and froze Genn in place halfway through his advance. “You can kill him later, Genn, right now we need information,” she snapped, irritated at having to restrain a friend. Then she turned back to Blightcaller, “What do you mean another Arthas?”

Blightcaller snorted, “Like you don’t already know? I wouldn’t put it past your miserable kind to let the boy follow in your beloved, what was it, boyfriend’s footsteps just to see the Forsaken crushed beneath your bootheel. You do love to make us the monsters.” 

“No,” she whispered, and the horror in her eyes must have told him just how distressing the idea was because something shifted in his face, though nearly imperceptibly. 

“Well, in that case, I suppose you’re all just truly idiots. Shame, I was hoping to be killed by people of more worth,” Blightcaller bitched, and Jaina couldn’t quite see how the man could be so blase about dying, though she supposed perhaps that came with undeath. 

“We’re not killing you, not yet anyway. If my… if Anuin has become what you say he has, if we face another Lich King, we’ll need everyone on our side to fight him. I made the mistake of making enmity with the Horde in crises before, I won’t do so again,” Varian said, Shalamayne resting now at his side and posture defeated. “If his ability to successfully invade a highly defensible city wasn’t enough to tell us of the threat he poses, the fact that he did so without us knowing he was doing it despite our tailing him for over a day now definitely does. We need all the allies we can get, and if you’re half as intelligent as I think you are, you know I’m right.”

Blightcaller grimaced, “Does that mean Proudmore is going to stop sitting on my chest? It makes it rather hard to breathe, see.”

“I was under the impression you didn’t need to breathe,” Jaina replied, but climbed to her feet anyway.

“Oh, I don’t.” Nathanos threw a snarky grin at her. “I just don’t ever want to be between your legs in any context ever again, if you don’t mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re a bitch,” he snarked back.

“At least I’m not Sylvanas’s bitch,” she snapped, finding there was less bite to the words than she’d intended. And if there was the barest hint of a grin on her face? She chalked that up to not having to touch him any longer. 

Blightcaller hummed, “Touche.” 

“If you two are done,” Varian cut in, frowning, “I want to know exactly what happened in the Undercity. Spare no detail, Blightcaller, I may need you for now but I assure you I can make your existence very painful.” 

“Yes, yes, spare no detail, tell the whole story, I get the picture. Would you like me to swear on my non-existent grave that I’ll tell nothing but the truth?” he sneered, rolling his eyes. “If you’re going to be so demanding the least you could do is offer a man some tea.” 

He crossed his arms and sniffed haughtily, clearly acting it up, but Jaina found herself waving a hand and summoning mana tea nonetheless, a steaming cup apparating and floating just in front of him. Blightcaller reached out for it cautiously, squinting at her, but took the cup in his hands and, to Jaina’s immense surprise, it almost seemed like he warmed his hands on it. Bringing the cup to his face, he took a deep breath of the steam, eyes closed, and Jaina thought briefly that maybe the undead sought out warmth and comfort with all the same fervour as the living. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll start from the beginning then,” and Blightcaller launched into his tale. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and I hope you're still enjoying this little brainchild of mine. As always, comments and kudos mean the world ❤❤❤


	4. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin has a lot of clean up to do now that he's taken over the Forsaken. Meanwhile, Varian and Co. finally make their move on the necropolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I updated this instead of working on For All We've Lost, don't hate me. Now that we're getting into the heavy shit I once again feel the need to warn you that though I'm planning a satisfying ending, one that will be happy in some respects, this is not a happy story and will have a lot of moral greys and bad stuff in it. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

####  _ Sunday, 9:30, the Undercity Apothecarium; Anduin _

“So, hypothetically, it is possible,” Anduin said, growing tired of the Apothecary’s inability to say anything straight.

“It would be very challenging, my king, and there are substantial risks to-”

“Enough!” Anduin snapped, cutting her off, “Is. It. Possible?”

“Yes, my king. Hypothetically we could clean the area of the plague,” she finally replied, and though her mouth hung open in a manner which suggested she’d intended to say more, in a display of a great deal more intelligence than Anduin had started suspecting she had, the woman did not say anything else. 

“Good. Prepare a team to take to Gilneas for a test run of the Plague vacuums. You leave this afternoon barring interruptions,” Anduin instructed, then paused and gave her a very calculating look, “And you would do well to remember that returning their city to them may be the only way to get Gilneas on our side without warfare, Apothecary Dreadmarrow.”

She bowed and made a hasty retreat deeper into the Quarter, likely down into the labs where she could assemble her team. Anduin sighed, hating having been so terse with her, but he was at the end of his patience after having spent numerous hours with Amalia and Winters on various preparations for the attack from the Skyfire that had yet to come and his hold on his temper was thin as tissue paper. On top of the preparations, he’d had to coordinate multiple units of Deathguards to head into Forsaken-occupied territories and alert them to the change in leadership, as well as shore up defences at the gate to Hillsbrad just in case the mixed Horde and Forsaken troops there decided to try anything. Which was all to say Anduin was exhausted and it wasn’t even noon.

“Lenara, are the troops ready for engagement in Hillsbrad?” he asked, turning to face the Dark Ranger who’d come up behind him.

“Oh, uh yes, my king,” she replied, seeming startled that he’d noticed her. Had she been in stealth? He wasn’t sure and it hardly mattered — he could sense all that he’d raised like he could sense his fingers and toes, stealth or no. 

“Good, we should move out quickly. I want Hillsbrad secured as soon as possible. If we can have it over and done with before the Apothecary team makes it to Gilneas that would be ideal, but at the least, I want us in there keeping them occupied so our researchers don’t have to fight plague and the Horde.”

Lenara bowed and walked with Anduin as he headed into the War Quarter where he’d told her to assemble the Dark Rangers that had chosen to serve him after their conversion, the rest having been allowed to flee to Silvermoon, at least for now. Amalia had criticized the decision, insisting that he kill or imprison them rather than let them go off and warn Silvermoon, but he didn’t want to be that kind of ruler. Silvermoon would come into his hands in time and by the grace of the Light; whether they knew he was coming was irrelevant. He was the True King, and they would all bow eventually. 

As they neared the area where her troops were waiting, Anduin took stock of them from afar and smiled — they were more than he’d hoped for and likely more than they’d need. Good, this shouldn’t take long then and he’d be able to make it back to Nessusus in time to help Amalia and Winters if everything went according to plan. When they reached the group, one of the Deathstalkers came forward to greet Lenara with a smile and a friendly handshake rather than a salute. Curious.

Lenara turned to Anduin, smiling. “My king we have a surprise for you. I had thought to mention it earlier but figured it would be better left until I was certain he would actually come,” she said, then motioned to the man beside her, “This is Deathstalker Commander Belmont, he was in Silverpine gathering some of Sylvanas’s forces when we arrived with news of our new leadership. It took a little convincing but he’s decided to join us and be converted like the rest of us were.” 

“Belmont, it’s a pleasure to have someone of such high rank join us. I must admit I’ve never heard of you, but by Lenara’s expression I’m assuming you’re rather esteemed?” Anduin asked, readying his blade to bring about the transformation. 

“I’ve served the Dark Lady well, and now I am ready to serve you equally well,” the man replied simply, bowing.

Lenara, meanwhile, snorted. “He’d being humble. He is one of our best and earned his title through many years of hard work. Your not having heard of him bodes well of his skill, in fact, given his profession. Though I suppose the Alliance’s definition of a famous spy is perhaps a little less anonymous than the Forsaken’s.”

At that, Belmont chuckled. He tried almost immediately to cover it in a cough, which was rather funny to Anduin considering none of them breathed. Anduin let himself smile at the jab at Shaw — he had tried not to think too hard on his home since he’d discussed the possibility that his father and Genn wouldn’t join him willingly with Amalia that morning, but he could admit that Lenara had a fair point. 

“Well, I’m pleased you’ve chosen to serve me, then, Deathstalker Commander. It is with great pleasure that I cleanse you of the curse of the Scourge and bring you into my service,” Anduin said, raising his blade to lay flat-down on Belmont’s shoulder and engulfing him in blue flame. 

He’d realized some time before that he did not need to kill a person to raise them, and he was glad for it — killing people was a messy business that he preferred to avoid. When the flames subsided, they revealed a confused looking Belmont, eyes closed and head tilted like he was listening for something. 

“I don’t feel any… Oh! Yes, I understand now,” he looked at Lenara and they exchanged a long look between them that Anduin didn’t understand. “It is strange, being unable to feel her influence for the first time in so many long years, but I am glad to be rid of the vestiges of the Lich King that lingered in it.”

“You get used to her absence, though I agree it is odd at first,” Lenara confirmed, leaving Anduin wondering how it was that they’d been able to feel Sylvanas’s presence before. 

“Alas, I’m sure I’ll adjust quickly. Now, I believe, my king, that we were preparing to take Hillsbrad from the orcs?” Belmont asked, and if Anduin wasn’t incorrect he looked rather pleased about it. 

“It would be preferable if we could bring the remnants of the Frostwolf clan into our fold, but if we must take it by force then so be it. Peace will not be easy and we will have to fight for it, but hopefully, in the end, everyone understands that what we’ve done is for the best,” Anduin replied, wishing he didn’t sound so despondent. 

“Peace is a valiant goal, my king, one we will fight to achieve and fight to defend above all else,” Lenara said, bowing. “Shall we head out, then? No time like the present?” 

“Yes, lets. We have a fair amount of ground to cover and I want to get there sooner rather than later. Also, I had heard you had a gift for me, Lenara? Or was I mishearing the gossip among your Rangers this morning?” Anduin teased, throwing her a smile.

Lenara rolled her eyes and tossed a mildly betrayed and far-too-fond-to-be-serious glare at the Dark Rangers she’d assembled as they headed for the sewer exit and, beyond it, to the forests of Tirisfal. “I do have a gift for you, my king,” Lenara replied, “Upon learning that your horse was left behind in Stormwind and you haven’t been able thus to retrieve her I had a new mount found for you. She won’t be Reverence, but I think you’ll like her well enough, though I should warn you the gait may take some getting used to.” 

Anduin raised an eyebrow inquisitively but didn’t bother asking — he’d find out soon enough what she meant. And upon exiting the sewers and seeing a handful of skeletal horses and one large, mean-looking but fluffy-furred plaguehound, he instantly knew. 

“Does she have a name?” Anduin asked, approaching the hound cautiously. He held out his hand for her to sniff and when she seemed to adjust to his presence brought it up to scratch behind her ears. Despite being dead and a creature of plague, she was soft-furred and seemed to enjoy the attention. 

“She does not, I thought to leave that to you. She is the strongest of the last litter of one of Blightcaller’s best hounds, she will serve you well,” Lenara said, and Anduin reminded himself to send out a party in search of the former hound master. It was a shame he’d managed to escape, but that was just how it happened sometimes. 

“ _ Integrity, _ I think,” Anduin said, resting his hand on her muzzle.

Lenara looked at him strangely. “Normally we give them names for what they will bring about, like Destruction, Devastation, Annihilation, and so on. Integrity… that’s new.” 

Anduin snorted. “Well, it’s traditional that followers of the Light name their horses after traits they admire and wish to emulate. She may not be a horse, but I think the rule still applies,” Anduin explained, smiling as Integrity nuzzled his palm. “Plus, I think it suits her.” 

With that sorted, they mounted and headed off toward Hillsbrad, making sure to make enough fanfare through Silverpine that there was little chance they’d go unnoticed by a certain airship that hovered above them.

  
  


####  _ Meanwhile, aboard the Skyfire; Varian _

“They’re heading south through Silverpine, my king. If I had to guess they’re likely heading for Hillsbrad,” the scout, Soren, relayed, “They’d shored up defences at Hillsbrad’s gate and I’m guessing they’re moving into the territory to ensure that it’s truly theirs now.”

“Will there be any opposition for them there?” Varian asked, hoping despite himself that they wouldn’t face enough trouble to seriously wound Anduin. Logically it was their best bet, but part of Varian needed to see and face Anduin himself to truly believe he had become what Blightcaller had described. 

Soren shrugged, then seemed to catch up mentally with who he was speaking to and bowed a little in apology. “I am unsure, majesty. It seems to me that most of the forces in the Foothills are Forsaken so I don’t know why it would be any different there than in Silverpine, but the actions of the Pri- er, Lich King’s troops implies something else,” he explained.

“Because, you large purple buffoon, the Frostwolves sent the last of their clan there into the mountains years ago and they’re still up there, prancing about in the snow with their wolves or whatever they do,” Blightcaller cut in from behind them, and Varian turned to look at the man, motioning for him to continue. Rolling his eyes, he did, “Hillsbrad was never truly Forsaken territory so much as a place we defended for the Horde and used for our own experiments and projects. Sure, we won battles there, but unlike Silverpine it was never truly ours, even if the majority of the forces there wear our tabard. This new Lich King will need to contend with a number of non-Forsaken Horde troops there if he’s to successfully take the region, and given the Frostwolves’ attitude toward the Forsaken, I have a strong feeling he won’t have any luck with them unless he puts them all to the sword.” 

Varian frowned at that — he didn’t want Anduin to be forced to make such a decision, but neither did he want him to be injured in an all-out battle. If the Frostwolves denied him would he put them down like broken-legged horses? Or would he show them mercy and allow them to retreat only to stab him in the back? For all he wished he could get it through his skull that Anduin was the enemy and it would be better for them all if the Frostwolves just took him down right now, he couldn’t help but mourn for him anyway. Oh, damn it all, he didn’t know if he even had it in him to kill the man if they met on the field of battle. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Varian looked over Blightcaller’s shoulder to where Genn and Jaina stood on the deck, glaring daggers and watching with curiosity respectively, and waved them over. As they approached, Blightcaller less than subtly moved so that Jaina was between him and Genn, and honestly, Varian didn’t blame him with how openly hostile the old wolf had been. 

“I have a plan but I’m not sure it will work,” Varian said, and Blightcaller opened his mouth to say something before being swatted by Jaina and closing it silently, “Anduin is away from the Undercity at the moment and if our scouts are correct a large number of his Death Knights are working on repairing Brill to make up for their assault on it. We don’t have exact numbers, but the fact is that with so many of them away, the necropolis is about as empty as it’s going to get right now. We strike there and we strike hard, and if we’re lucky Anduin will be too occupied with Hillsbrad to come to their aid.”

“Even if we do take it, what of the Undercity?” Blightcaller asked, expression strangely serious. 

Varian sighed. “We’re not going to be able to do anything about it right now. Even if we had the troops, it’s not within my jurisdiction to hold once it’s free and the last thing we need is the Horde breathing down our necks for taking one of their capitals,” he replied, knowing it wasn’t what Blightcaller would want to hear, “After the necropolis is ours, I would suggest you head to Orgrimmar and beg of the Horde’s aid in reclaiming their lost capital.” 

Blightcaller seemed disappointed, almost, and in a show of strange honestly and non-bluster he looked away sadly and muttered beneath his breath, “I’d hoped to see it again but I suppose that’s not my lot.” 

Jaina gave him a compassionate nod and even Genn seemed to pause in his glaring for a moment. Varian, however, was simply confused. “Do you think the Horde incapable of retaking it?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“On the contrary, I’m sure they’ll do a far more adept job than your directionless blundering would,” he sneered, but grew sober once again, “Simply I’m sure whatever punishment my Lady has in place for me will not involve seeing my city, my Rangers or my hounds ever again. She’ll probably leave me to slowly waste away in the sun on the bluffs above Orgrimmar, or something similar. The Banshee Queen doesn’t take kindly to failure, and I’ve failed more thoroughly than anyone in the history of the Forsaken.” 

“I’m sure harbour could be found for you somewhere,” Jaina argued, but Blightcaller shook his head.

“My service is to my Lady, and failure will not change that. Even if it brings about punishments worse than death, my duty to my Queen is unwavering,” Blightcaller said softly, and Varian realized the sense of duty in the man was far greater than he’d expected — or known the Forsaken to possess, for that matter. 

“I hope for your sake that the difficulty she faces in retaking the city shows her the fortitude of Anduin’s forces and thus nullifies your failure, it would be good for you to see your home once again,” Varian replied, nodding to the man in concession. 

Blightcaller only snorted, “Honestly, I mostly miss my dogs.” 

Varian opened his mouth, realized he had no idea what to say, and closed it again. Genn and Jaina seemed to be doing the same thing, so at least Varian didn’t feel so alone in his confusion. “Right. Well, back to taking the necropolis, does anyone have any concerns?” 

“I do, actually,” Jaina said, “What do we do with it once we’ve taken it? Presumably, his most elite forces will be there to watch over it in his absence, but once we’ve taken care of them I doubt it’s a good idea to just leave it empty; I’m sure it has uses to Anduin beyond simply a place to train his Death Knights.” 

“I was hoping we could move it away from here or destroy it,” Varian replied, realizing as he said it that he had no idea how to do either of those things. If they blew it up, they’d collapse the Undercity with the falling debris. And if they were able to take it fully without leaving any Knights alive, he had no idea how to operate it or where he’d move it besides.

“Perhaps,” Blightcaller added, “It would be best to occupy it right where it is and wait for the new King to return. When he does we can catch him just back from a battle and hopefully worn down enough to defeat. I should also mention that I believe at least one of the Dark Rangers with him is playing him, though I can’t confirm her loyalty is to us. She may very well be playing her own game, and if so I have no read on what she’ll do if we face her, but she spared me and gave me an exit route.” 

Varian hummed, nodding. “That’s not a bad idea. If we can take Anduin down now we won’t have to worry about the necropolis and his Knights will be freed of his will and hopefully return to the faction they originally served.”

“But you’re hesitant,” Genn said bluntly, though his words lacked any accusatory tone. If there was anyone who could even somewhat fathom his pain at the prospect of killing his only son, it was Genn. Not that Anduin being his  _ son _ in the social capacity was the source of his hesitation per se, but he could use it as a cover nonetheless and it was certainly something Genn understood. 

“Of course I’m hesitant! He’s my boy, Genn, and you can’t blame me for wishing there was another way to save him,” Varian replied, feeling the mourning that had settled into his bones since hearing Blightcaller’s retelling of the events in the Undercity surge bright once again. 

“We could attempt to disarm him and destroy the blade,” Blightcall— no,  _ Nathanos _ offered, “If his new power comes from it there is a chance that removing it from his person and destroying it would cleanse him of its taint.”

Varian, Genn and Jaina all stared at the man in shock. Of the four of them, Varian had pegged him as the last to show any mercy, and clearly he hadn’t been alone. Nathanos crossed his arms and huffed, “What? Do you think me incapable of any sense of human kindness? My Lady may not be so fond of the Little Lion but I think he’s done rather a lot of impressive things and I’d rather see him returned to his rightful place as a thorn in the Horde’s side then put down like a rabid dog. Is that truly so hard to believe?” 

“No,” Jaina said, the ghost of a sad smile on her lips, “I think it’s that the rest of us hadn’t considered saving him that’s really getting to us.”

That made Nathanos’s brows raise. “You hadn’t thought of that? None of you?” 

Varian grimaced and shook his head, and was relieved to see Genn do the same. Perhaps this all felt too familiar, perhaps his dreams were making it harder to see the situation clearly, but however it happened he hadn’t considered taking the sword away and seeing if Anduin went back to normal. “Whatever we do, we need to take that necropolis first. After that, we can see about destroying his weapon,” Varian said, “And thank you, Nathanos, for the suggestion. I… it wouldn’t have occurred to me.” 

Nathanos just shrugged and sniffed, avoiding eye contact. “Does that mean I’ll get somewhere to rest now?” he grumbled.

“You’ll get a bed when you can prove you need sleep like the rest of us,” Varian replied, clapping him on the shoulder, “Anyhow, we should move sooner rather than later, the more time we have between taking the necropolis and Anduin’s return the more prepared we’ll be to fight him.”

Everyone nodded at that. They quickly assembled their team and prepared, knowing from a combination of scouting and Jaina’s scrying that their best bet was to throw soldiers at the lower platforms and meanwhile strike at the top level which was mostly open to the air. It wasn’t ideal, and they’d likely lose a good portion of the soldiers they sent, but this way at the least they’d be able to take down the people in charge and hopefully give themselves a fighting chance in the ensuing chaos. Varian gave the signal for his soldiers to begin their flight to the lower entry platforms and mounted the griffin he was sharing with Nathanos. It wasn’t ideal, having two men of such size on one beast, but the hope was that by using fewer mounts they would have a greater chance of reaching the top platform undetected. Plus, Nathanos had insisted he didn’t actually weigh as much since he was dead, though Varian wasn’t sure he believed him.

Checking over his shoulder, Varian confirmed that Genn and Jaina, along with their Druid friend, Soren, and a gnomish engineer by the name of Nina who was coming along in case they needed to learn how to operate the necropolis, were following on their griffins. Once the three pairs were in the air, Nathanos used some strange magic he possessed to draw in and darken the clouds around them to keep them better hidden, and before long they were mere meters away from the mostly-vacant open level of the necropolis. Upon it stood one figure, facing them, with a weapon drawn but held to their side in one hand and an absence where their other forearm would be. For a moment, Varian thought they were done, that they were caught and would be shot out of the sky, but the figure just watched them approach, making no move to attack them. 

They landed where there were gaps in the railing and dismounted, all drawing weapons or preparing spells for the figure’s attack, but it never came. Still, they just stood there watching them, and Varian couldn’t help but feel ill at ease. Varian and his party sent their griffins off, knowing there were more likely to get in the way here than aid them, and as they all slowly approached the lone figure, their or rather her features came into focus and Varian recognized her at last. 

Amalia Park, esteemed captain of the Stormwind city guard and friend of House Wrynn, stood before him in black plate armour and wielding a darkened rune blade. Her eyes shone the light blue of undeath and her skin had a strange pallor, but what alarmed him most was her entirely relaxed posture and vaguely welcoming smile. As they approached her, she tucked herself into a bow, sword still simply resting at her side.

“Good afternoon, King Varian, it is good to see you’ve finally arrived, though I must say you are a little late to the party,” she greeted him with a warm smile, voice oh so familiar under the scratch of death, “You seem to have brought guests though so I suppose I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Captain Park, what is going on?” he asked, feeling conflicted between wanting to help this woman who was acting so wholly herself and knowing she was nothing more than a pawn of Anduin’s. 

“Highlord now, actually. And as for what’s going on, well, it’s rather simple. Anduin has taken up the blade of the True King and will use it to unite this world so that nothing will ever divide it again. He is an admiral leader and has good intentions for this world, and so I follow him. You, too, should follow him,” she replied, “His rule is as inevitable as it will be absolute.”

“He turns you into monsters and controls your minds,” Jaina argued, stepping forward, “I’ve seen it before and it never ends well. Think for yourself, Park, I know you can do it.”

Amalia simply shook her head. “I have nothing to break free from, Lady Jaina, because I am of my own free will. I have been since nearly the exact moment I entered this necropolis. You misunderstand Anduin for Arthas, thinking them the same where they are not. Arthas sought to conquer while Anduin seeks to free us. This world, this life, it’s a cage, war is a cage, and he holds the key to our salvation.”

“Listen to yourself! You sound insane!” Jaina screamed, “Your mind is not—”

“My mind is very much my own!” Amalia snapped, “I am an intelligent woman and I know when I’m being controlled. This is not that. You may not see what I see, have faith where I have faith, but until you denounce the Naaru and the Light as blithering nonsense I would recommend you refrain from calling my absolute trust in Anduin’s intentions insanity. I have seen him at work, and I know that if there is a saviour for this world it is him.”

“I thought that once too, about someone very special who had saved me from a terrible fate,” Nathanos spoke up, eyes piercing, “But just because she has given me everything I hold dear and more doesn’t mean that her vision of the world is absolute. Do not mistake love for faith, and do not mistake the one you love for a god or soon you’ll find you do not know who you see when you look in the mirror.”

For a moment, Varian questioned what exactly Nathanos meant, and what it said about his relationship with Sylvanas, but he was quickly distracted by Genn transforming into his worgen self and Jaina drawing frost to her fingertips. Apparently they’d decided this little conversation was over and Varian was fine with that. Raising Shalamayne, he charged, narrowly avoiding wincing when an arrow shot past his ear straight for Amalia’s chest. 

With a grace and precision he’d never seen her wield before, Amalia knocked the arrow off its course with her blade before spinning out of the way of his strike. She parried his next blow, not seeming the least bit unbalanced despite her lost arm, and with a flash of her eyes drew a rune of boiling blood down around them. Deflecting his next two blows, she spun deftly out of the way of a flying shard of ice and narrowly managed to knock another arrow out of the way before it could hit anything vital. 

The rune beneath his feet was draining him, but Varian pushed on, feeling warm nature magic crawl through him and bolster him from Soren, who was hanging back from the group looking rather intimidated by Amalia’s speed and skill. Genn finally kicked into gear, charging forward to swipe at Amalia from her flank while she parried another blow from Varian, but before his claws could connect, she raised the stump of her arm and Varian almost stumbled back as blood gushed from the end of it and formed into a shield which she used to slam Genn back. 

“I don’t want to fight you,” she yelled, “You would do well in service to him. Join us!”

Varian and Genn launched another flanked assault, and this time while she was busy parrying and blocking their blows Nathanos fired right for her throat, the arrow suddenly encrusted in ice as it approached. But just as it touched her skin, the ice bursting over her flesh and armour like tiny blades, the arrow was knocked away by a gust of poisonous air that had Genn rearing back, coughing. 

“Look like you could use a hand, Highlord,” called a Death Knight from where she’d just landed on the tier after dismounting a bone griffin. 

“Good timing, Sergeant Winters,” Amalia replied, pressing the advantage her soldier’s arrival gave her and striking at Varian swiftly. 

Though he regained his bearings in time to block her blow, splitting Shalamayne into two blades to increase his chance of success, he got a strange yet distinct feeling that they were going to lose even if they outnumbered their opponents rather substantially. As Amalia kept the pressure on him, her Sergeant faced off with Genn, heavy two-handed blade knocking his blows aside with ease and digging into his flesh with each parry. Varian tried to keep his attention on Amalia, but he could see Genn drooping, something about the blade wielded against him making him grow lethargic and slow. Though he was not the only attention split — Amalia similarly torn between his attacks and those that came from their ranged fighters — she managed to use his divided attention against him and knock his legs out from under him.

He landed on his back harshly, air flying from his lungs and leaving him gasping, and he could only watch as Genn was similarly laid out by this Sergeant and left, gasping and shaking from poison, on the ground not far from him. As Amalia approached Jaina, Nathanos swapped his bow for handaxes he kept at his side and took her on in close range, allowing Jaina to continue her spells from afar. They were both flagging as well, though, something about the necropolis itself seeming to drain all of their energy and wills away, and before either Jaina or Nathanos could do anything about Amalia, her Sergeant was raising near to a dozen ghouls from the ground to swarm and take down their team. 

Varian dragged himself across the floor to where Genn laid, head aching in a way that told him he’d probably split his skull on the flagstone when he’d been knocked down, and tried to rouse the man. He could see that he was still breathing, though it was laboured and wheezy like he had a lung sickness — which with all the poison he’d been forced to inhale seemed a fair bet. 

“Genn,” he whispered, watching as Jaina was forced down by the ghouls and chained along with Nathanos, Soren and Nina, “ _ Genn, _ come on wake up.”

He shook the man but got no reply more than a grunt and a vague flutter of eyelids. Damnit he needed to get them out of here, warn the Skyfire of just how dangerous these people were even without Anduin present, but before he could even begin to drag himself up plated boots approached and he looked up into the face of Amalia.

She waved her fingers and suddenly coils of magic that reeked of plague and blood bound around his body like ropes, then she crouched down to prod ever so gently at the wound on the back of his skull. “This isn’t too severe but I’ll have our medics take a look at you anyway. The king asked for you to be kept alive, all of you in fact, but I ask you to behave yourselves in our care else I will have to make it unpleasant. I would prefer to make it comfortable, but the choice is yours I suppose.” 

With that, she stood and whistled, motioning for someone to approach and soon enough Varian was being lifted onto a cot and carried off, grateful just a hair that Genn got the same treatment. As he was brought to whatever cell he would presumably be kept in, he let himself drift, though made sure not to fall asleep — the last thing he needed was Anduin raising him simply because he’d succumbed to his injuries like an idiot. 

  
  


####  _ Sunday, 15:00, Hillsbrad Foothills; Anduin _

With a sigh of deep remorse, Anduin cleaned the blood of the last of the Frostwolves’ warriors off his blade, watching their civilians leave for Arathi in the distance. It wasn’t right, he knew, slaying people like an executioner as they kneeled before him, but he’d given them the choice to accept his blessing or die, and they had chosen death — every last one of them. 

Even after insisting that the conversion would not alter their minds and that they would be allowed to go free once converted, they had stubbornly refused and he was forced to take matters into his own hands and show those of the Horde that he was not to be trifled with. When the civilians got to Arathi they would tell their story, they would explain what they saw, and then perhaps he would be feared instead of mocked for being a child king. 

“We should return, my king,” Belmont was saying, “The Undercity could use your leadership if the changes you wish to implement are going to happen in a timely manner.”

“Yes, you’re right. Let us go, then, I’m done with this place.” He sighed again and headed to where Integrity was tied to a tree farther down the hill. 

“Are you not going to raise them, my king?” Lenara asked, jogging to catch up with him, “They are adept warriors and would be good additions to our cause.”

“No, Lenara. They chose death, and I will respect that. Our forces will be fine without them, and if in time their kin wish to see them raised only then will I disturb their rest.”

Anduin untied his mount and climbed into the saddle, feeling moments away from breaking down but holding himself together by threads. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, to execute over a dozen soldiers, and he wasn’t prepared to answer irritating questions about it. Thankfully, Lenara seemed to sense this and prepared their troops to return to Tirisfal without asking him anything else. 

The ride was long, over an hour at least from the Mill where they’d organized a permanent base for some of their soldiers to the Undercity, and Anduin was greatly looking forward to getting back to the Nessusus and taking a long hot bath. If he was lucky, the plan to capture a portion of the Alliance leadership had been a success and he would be able to finally see his father again and explain his actions, though he would admit he wasn’t sure he had a good explanation for some of them. Varian would understand, or at least he continued to tell himself that as they rode. Varian would understand and everything would be alright, and if he was lucky he might just finally get the one thing he’d hated himself for wanting all these years. 

When they finally reached the Undercity, Anduin was grateful that Lenara sensed his urgency to return to the Nessusus and offered to take Integrity to the stables for him. He thanked her, then found one of the bat keepers that could give him a lift to his citadel. As he cruised through the air toward its lower platforms, something registered in his consciousness that hadn’t been there before. It felt almost like potential.

As the bat rose above the lower ledge to drop him off, he realized that what he’d been sensing was death, and a lot of it, as he surveyed the over a dozen Alliance soldiers that littered the lowest tier of his necropolis. He was too drained to raise them at the moment, but he could feel they would rise well when he was able to bring them back. He also sensed that their deaths had been brought about in a zeal that he would need to combat if he was to keep them under wraps once they returned. 

When he’d become so attuned to not only death but the manner and emotions of an individual’s end he wasn’t sure, but he knew in his gut that he wasn’t imagining it and that was good enough for him. Stepping onto the teleportation platform that took him to the second floor, he smiled when Amalia and Winters rushed to greet him as soon as he appeared on the floor above. 

“My king!” Amalia called, barely contained grin gracing her features, “It’s good you’ve returned. They attacked as we expected and we were able to capture them.”

“You have Genn and my father secure then? Where are they being held?”

“We turned an old torture chamber into a cellblock, my king,” Winters answered, “And it’s not simply your father and Greymane that attacked, they were aided by Archmage Proudmoore and Nathanos Blighcaller, as well as two others we don’t’ recognize.”

“Greymane, Proudmoore and Blightcaller are all being held in the cells,” Amalia continued, “But your father was a tad more cooperative so we had him placed in a well-secured room. Hopefully, the modicum of comfort will help to convert him to our cause.” 

“Good thinking, thank you both. Winters would you escort me to see my father? I feel a need to see him more immediately than I’d originally intended. And Highlord could you organize the bodies downstairs be brought up here so that I can raise them when my energy is returned?” 

Both women nodded their assent and saluted before heading to do what he’d asked. As Winters showed him the way to his father’s room, he noted that she seemed agitated about something. “Is something bothering you, Winters?” he asked, and she looked over at him briefly before returning her gaze to the hallway ahead of them. 

“Not bothering, majesty, just… I was wondering why you approved the Highlord’s appointing me her second in command? I hardly have the experience to make me fit for the position and I suppose I’m just a little confused is all,” she explained, then looked to him with wide eyes as if realizing her own words, “Not that I doubt your judgement, of course! I was just-”

“I understand, Winters, and you haven’t offended me. If anything it’s good that you question what I’ve done, it keeps me humble, and a king should always be humble,” Anduin cut in, hoping to stop her before she got too caught up worrying, “As for why I agreed? Honestly, I think you’ve proven yourself rather adept, a good fighter and a quick thinker, but I don’t know a lot about combat, about war. I was the prince that favoured the bow and the Light over the blade and a battle, I hardly have the experience to be judging who is fit for what position. But Amalia? She knows what she’s talking about, so when she asked to make you her second I trusted that she had good reason. I trust her, Winters, and I think you should too.”

“That… is fair. Thank you, my king, you’ve put my mind at ease,” she said, giving him a small bow as they walked.

“Of course, and if you have any concerns in the future please don’t hesitate to bring them to me. I know I’m the king, but I’m a person as well, and I’m here if you need,” he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder kindly. 

She nodded her thanks, then slowed to a pause outside a heavily fortified door. “Here we are. Would you like me to come in with you or would you prefer to be alone? We’ve disarmed him and removed his armour to reduce the threat he poses, but he is still a dangerous man nonetheless.”

“I appreciate the sentiment but I’ll be fine on my own. I’d prefer to do this alone, actually, it will make it easier for me to speak with him if it’s just the two of us,” he said, watching her unlock the various locks and deadbolts on the door. 

“Whatever you think is best, my king. I’ll be here if you need me,” she replied, bowing and stepping to the side when everything was unlocked and the door was ready to be opened. 

Anduin opened the door and slipped through, closing it behind him and just resting against it for a moment while he took in the room. It was simple and mostly barren, a washbasin in one corner, a small bed with simple sheets and a single pillow, a small table with two chairs, and, standing from one of those chairs to stare at him as he entered, his father. 

“Hello, father,” he said, voice hardly a whisper but carrying in the stone-walled room anyway.

“Anduin. You… don’t look how I thought you would,” Varian replied, voice scratchy and rough in that way it often was when he was tired. If Anduin had to guess, the man hadn’t slept well before the battle and hadn’t slept since.

“I don’t look like Arthas, you mean?” Anduin didn’t mean for the words to bite the way they did, but he couldn’t help but feel hurt that his own father was so unconcerned by his wellbeing. 

Varian sighed, looking away. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

“But you did. You’re a terrible liar, father.” Anduin tried to stay angry but his words sounded fond. 

A tick in Varian’s jaw was all he got in response, and Anduin wondered what exactly he’d said to make the man so upset. “Father?” he asked, coming forward.

As that word left this mouth, the clench in Varian’s jaw got worse and a sinking feeling developed in Anduin’s stomach. Had his father truly come to see him as something so monstrous he didn’t want to think of Anduin as his child any longer? Tears burned in Anduin’s eyes but he was grateful he was able to sound angry when really he was heartbroken.

“Do I truly disgust you so much you can’t bear to hear me call you ‘father,’ father?” he demanded, anger and pain twisting his words into knives.

“That’s not…” Varian took a deep breath and met his eyes, pain and worry and sadness warring in them. “You don’t disgust me, my boy, I love you. Now and always, I love you. But you’re not mine.”

Anduin’s brows furrowed.  _ What is he talking about? _ But before Anduin could open his mouth to ask, Varian was explaining, “We spent a summer in Lordaeron after we were wed, your mother and I, a pleasant reprieve from the heat of Stormwind’s summers. She was showing pregnancy by fall and I didn’t think much of it, really, that we’d been sleeping in separate rooms while we were there. When you were born, looking so little like me and so much like her… I accused her of it, briefly, but she told me off, told me I was mad and then she was dead and I couldn’t bear to entertain the question any longer.”

“Lordaeron…” Anduin whispered, staring at the ground. That meant… 

“You’re Arthas’s child, Anduin. You’re the heir to Lordaeron,” Varian confirmed for him.

_ Beware your father’s fate, Menethil Lion.  _ The words of the lich echoed in his head as he stared at the man who’d raised him. He wanted to cry, to sob and wail and scream, but the worst part of it was, he wasn’t sure if it was out of sadness or relief. He wasn’t Varian’s  _ son _ , and that made so much of what he yearned for feel so much less wrong. But that didn’t matter at the moment, not when he was burdened with a truth he didn’t want and a fate he hadn’t asked for. Not when he still had an army to lead and global peace to achieve. 

Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and nodded to Varian. “Thank you for telling me this. I will return tomorrow to discuss the potential of you joining us then. For now, I bid you a good night, I have much to think about.” 

Anduin gave him a terse smile and all by ran out of the room, not turning even when Varian called for him. He should have talked with him, made sure he was okay, but Anduin’s mind was reeling and he needed space. And a hot bath. And maybe even something very, very strong to drink. 

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos mean the world, love y'all ❤❤


	5. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions are had with the captured leaders, and Anduin finally gets at least one thing he wants, even as he loses another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a set up and intermission chapter, but hopefully it's entertaining enough. Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, y'all are so lovely and I appreciate the comments massively!!

####  _ Monday, 6:00, the Nessusus; Genn _

Genn paced the small room he’d been taken to not too long ago and resisted the urge to growl at the door. He hadn’t seen the sky on his way here, the necropolis not seeming to have any windows, but he knew in his bones it was an ungodly hour of the morning and that he shouldn’t, by any mercy, be awake. Though he supposed the dead didn’t sleep and he should be glad to not have been woken any earlier, between his grogginess at the hour and grumpiness at having been denied food and tea, he wasn’t feeling generous enough to be thankful. He spun with a growl in his throat as he heard the door unlock, ready to shift and pounce, but then Anduin was stepping in with a steaming plate of food and pot of tea and Genn decided certain things would have to come before ripping the man’s throat out. Can’t kill the Lich King on an empty stomach and all. 

“Good morning, Genn. I am sorry for the early hour, I had asked my knights to waken you two at a reasonable time in the morning and I suppose they deemed sunrise reasonable. I’ll speak with them about remembering that the living need their sleep after we’re done here,” Anduin said as he walked in with the tray, setting it down on a table and sitting at one of the small stools set up there, “Please, eat, have your tea, I know what you’re like before caffeine.”

Genn huffed, following suit and flopping down on a stool to pour himself a cup of tea and drag the plate of sausages, eggs and toast toward himself. “If you know I’m poor company like this, why are you here first?” 

“Because my father has been given sleeping-in privileges for good behaviour,” he said with a shrug, “And of the two of you, Jaina is far scarier uncaffeinated.” 

That made Genn chuckle as he shoved forkfuls of food into his mouth. “I suppose that’s fair enough,” he said around a mouthful of eggs, “What of Blightcaller?” 

“I’m leaving him for now. I have little doubt he would have fled with the Dark Rangers had he been given the chance so I’m not sure what the point of talking to him just yet is, honestly,” Anduin replied with a shrug, not seeming bothered in the least by the admission that he likely wouldn’t be able to convince Blightcaller to join him. 

Genn continued to eat and drink his tea, grateful for the warm and surprisingly tasty food and the bold blend of tea. When his plate was clean and he’d refilled his cup for the third time, he sat back a bit on his stool and regarded Anduin carefully. He looked mostly the same as before, if with bluer eyes that seemed to give off an unnatural light and slighter paler skin, but what struck Gen most was the way his gentle expression, the openness he carried around like it didn’t put a target on his back, was still firmly in place. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t bring me here for no reason Anduin?” he asked, then added as an afterthought, “And where did you get such a well made breakfast?” 

Anduin laughed softly. “The breakfast I acquired from Sven, one of our worgen Death Knights, and the tea blend from the Undercity’s small goblin population. As for your being here… I do have motivations, yes, and something I wish to discuss, but I also wanted you to not have your first meal in my home be from behind bars.”

“As if this is not simply a more pleasantly gilded cage,” Genn snapped, then bowed his head almost ashamed — for all the monstrousness of the man before him, he was still so much his old self that Genn couldn’t help but feel guilty for being harsh in his words. 

“You’re right, it is, but at least it weighs you down with no shackles and presses you between no bars. Until circumstances change there is little I can do to free you, Genn, but I want to make you as comfortable as possible even when freedom is not an option,” Anduin explained, and for a moment Genn’s mind raced with the possibility that none of this was Anduin’s will and that Blightcaller had been wrong, but then Anduin continued speaking and his hope was squashed, “I care for you, and I do not want to see you hurt yourself by trying to escape, or hurt my knights in an outburst. Until you swear loyalty to me and while you are kept prisoner in this place, you must be under lock and key. So long as you agree to be peaceful and hear me out, however, I can make the cage nicer, like this.” 

Genn sighed, taking a deep drink of the malty blend in his cup. “What is your proposition, Anduin? What is it you ask of me?” 

“For now? Only to listen. But later I would ask for your fealty, your understanding, your heart as well as your hand,” Anduin answered with a sort of indifference that was belied by the scrutiny in his eyes. 

“To what purpose? What are you even trying to accomplish?” Genn tried to keep his voice level but it was a challenge — he was torn between reviling the monstrosity before him and trusting the kindness of the man he’d come to see as a surrogate son. 

“I want peace, Genn. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. With this,” he motioned with his hand to draw blue flames to his palm, “I can make us all equal. No war, no death, no starvation or fighting over resources. All united under one common goal and dominion. United to fight the Legion and any others who threaten us, unstoppable.”

And for all Genn wished it wasn’t, the picture Anduin painted was so tempting he found himself wanting more than anything for it to be a reality. Anduin was kind, he was good, but he was also strong, tenacious. If the world was to be led by one person, it would fail, but Anduin would not rule the world so much as guide it’s leaders, he would rearrange their power rather than take it away, he would maintain cultures and racial heritage rather than assimilate them — if there was one who the world could rally under, it would be Anduin if for no reason other than he would not expect them to be like him. 

But alas, it was impossible. Old hatred ran deep and he knew it would never work. The night elves would never allow themselves to be severed from the goddess they loved, nor the tauren from the Earth Mother, nor the dwarves from the elements. Hell, he wasn’t sure his people would allow themselves to be severed from the soothing nature that had healed them, even if they were still, ultimately, cursed. 

“I want people to go home, Genn. I want them to have the places and the lands they loved and the only way for that to happen is with peace. The orcs did not come here willingly, they have no rightful home, but for all they did to harm us there is more land here than we need and room can be made for them. Silvermoon should be restored, the Exodar repaired, and most importantly, Gilneas cleaned and returned to her rightful people,” Anduin continued after a pause, and Genn looked up at him in shock, “I want to bring your people home, Genn. I already have it in motion.” 

That… changed things. But even still he felt like the world was more likely to put aside it’s differences to  _ stop _ Anduin than to join him, all things considered. And yet, Gilneas had never been on offer, not with the night elves and not even when they rejoined the Alliance. Would he be a fool to turn down the one leader who seemed adamant that his people return home? Would he be as short sighted as he’d been when he first built the wall to turn down the genuine care and aid that Anduin was bestowing on his people? He had been burned before not asking for help, he knew, and if Anduin was as serious as he seemed to be about this then… 

“I… need time to consider, Anduin. I am already cursed, I do not know whether adding another to the list would do me any great harm, but many of my people do not see the curse so, or are not cursed at all. I am not sure it’s my place to damn then again,” he admitted quietly, and a hand, oddly warm, was placed on his forearm. 

“We all do what we must for our people, Genn. We both know this and have suffered for it. But I mean your people no harm, and they have no need to take my blessing, not really,” Anduin assured him with a squeeze to his arm before looking away pensively, “I… am still working out the details of all this. I do not want to admit it, perhaps, but I’ve been considering that my blessing may not be for everyone, and that with even a half of the population of the world taking it the need for resources would diminish to the point of a non-issue especially if we made a workforce that didn’t need sleep or food. That isn’t something certain, but I’m considering leaving people as they are so long as they are willing to serve the cause of peace. 

But anyhow, I will leave you to mull over my offer both for you and for your people. I’ll gather you and the others later to ask for your decisions then. You may stay here for now, if you wish, so long as you do not cause any trouble for your guards,” Anduin said, standing and giving him a polite nod, “Be well, Genn. I will call for you later.” 

With that, Anduin left Genn to his own devices and headed out of the room. His keen hearing picked up on the conversation he was having with the guard at the door, and Genn couldn’t help but smile that he was asking for Genn to be unharmed if at all possible. Whatever had happened to Anduin, he still seemed to be himself and very much able to love and care in a way that, from what he’d heard, Arthas had not. Whether that redeemed him or damned him further, Genn wasn’t sure.

####  _ 20 minutes later, a different room on the Nessesus; Jaina _

Jaina glared at the tray of food and pot of tea that had sat slowly cooling in front of her for the last quarter hour. Upon being captured, she’d quickly found her wrists bound in runed cuffs that blocked her magic, and despite numerous attempts to remove them by both force and wits, they remained securely in place and keeping her mana pools empty. The low mana drained her energy in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a very young mage, overusing magic on insignificant things far too frequently, and she’d been so damn tired of that drained feeling she’d even quietly asked Nathanos if he could pick the lock once Genn had been dragged off. 

Of course, he didn’t know how to pick locks — he’d given her a flat look and asked if she thought trees or squirrels hid locked chests about the woods, evidently tired of being assumed to have the same abilities as a rogue — so she’d resigned herself to being exhausted of mana and waited to be taken. When she was, handled not unlike a flask of alchemical fire by the guards bringing her to the small holding room, she silently prayed to the Tides and the Light that when she returned to the prison, Nathanos and Genn would be there unharmed. 

Now, she was watching with irritation the tea and food cool, angry that she was unable to summon food of her own or at the least purify this food of the poison that it was almost assuredly laced with. Her stomach rumbled and she was doubly irritated that her body didn’t seem to get the message — she wanted little more than to sit down and eat the plate of small quiche and sliced baguette with cheese and drink the hot, rich blend of black tea. With a sigh, she slumped down at the table and began to eat and drink, grateful the tea at least was still hot and that it was sweetened just the way she liked. As the food and drink warmed her, and her hunger and the growing headache behind her temples from lack of caffeine faded, she found her irritation faded as well, leaving her sad and confused and conflicted about everything that was going on. 

Nothing made sense any longer, and a man she once cared about was her enemy while she fought with a sworn enemy at her side as a friend. Not that she’d admit she cared what happened to Nathanos, not under threat of death, but the last few days had been harrowing and she was still catching up mentally to how her heart had chosen to react. Dubious as she was to trust him — her last vying for peace with the Horde in a stand against someone she loved had ended rather tragically — deep in her bones she knew something wasn’t the same in Anduin any longer. Whether he needed to be saved, or to be stopped, she knew he couldn’t be left simply to his own devices any longer lest he bring himself past the point of redemption. 

Just as she finished up the plate of quiche and baguette, she heard the locks on the door click and jangle as someone made to enter. On instinct, she stood and tried to draw ice to her fingers, and was bluntly reminded of the cuffs she wore by the effort. The door opened just wide enough for a familiar figure to walk though, and though part of her relaxed at the sight of her nephew, she didn’t change her fighting posture. Perhaps she loved him, but that didn’t mean he loved her, nor did it mean he wouldn’t harm her. 

“Hello, auntie,” he said as he closed the door behind himself, leaning against it like he was exhausted, “I’m not here to hurt you, Aunt Jaina, please relax. I’m glad to see you ate and had some tea, I know how your headaches get without it in the morning.”

She fought her instinct to rush forward and hug him, instead bringing her hands down stiffly and sitting at the table. “Hello, Anduin. Or should I call you Lich King?” 

Anduin sighed. “That is not the title I’ve taken, but I don’t blame you for the assumption,” he replied with pleading in his eyes that she forced herself to ignore.

“Say your piece then leave, I have no patience for waiting for you to show your true colours,” she barked, but Anduin only shook his head.

“And if kindness and a want for peace are my true colours? If I want the world to stop fighting and know that so long as resources and factions separate us that won’t be possible? If I think, maybe, there are things worse than undeath when the other option is annihilating each other?” he asked.

She growled. “Wanting good things doesn’t justify killing hundreds or thousands. It doesn’t justify what you’ve done.”

“And what is it I’ve done? Yes, I have killed some that resisted me, but only because it was their ultimate decision to die rather than submit, and I honoured their desire to stay unraised and not join me,” Anduin argued, “I am not a monster, nor are my people.” 

“You have Horde amongst you, how can you say your people are not monsters?” Jaina snapped, an old anger unfurling in her chest, “Those monsters were bad enough when they lived, I can’t imagine how much worse they are now that you’ve taken away the last thing that could have redeemed them.” 

“Your hatred blinds you, Jaina. The Horde isn’t evil, not really. They have sinned, yes, but so has the Alliance. We—”

“Are better than those dogs, Anduin. This magic has changed you, and it will be the end of you,” she interrupted him, eyes cold and desperately wishing she could call frost to her fingers. 

Anduin looked despondent. “Clearly you and I do not see things the same way, and your own hatred has marred what you saw in who I was before this magic touched me, because I can promise you I see the Horde no differently now than I used to,” Anduin said with deep resignation, then sighed and shook his head, “I pray that you see the light eventually, Jaina. If you need time to adjust then I can work with that, but please, please join me. We need you, Jaina. You’re the strongest mage in Azeroth and if we’re to defeat the Legion…”

“You’ll have to do so without me,” she said flatly, tired and not wanting to see a man she loved twisted so terribly, then stood up as he started walking toward her, “Do not come any closer!”

He paused, hands outreached placatingly. “Please, Jaina, I mean you no harm. I know you are unhappy with the circumstances and everything that has happened these past many years, but we finally could have peace, we finally could end not the war but the factions entirely before the Legion destroys our whole world. This is the only way to save them.”

“No!” she roared and leapt forward to strike him with her hand, however futile she knew the motion would be.

As if on instinct, he raised a hand in reply and blasted her back with frost, sending her tumbling into the far wall with a crack to her shoulder that sent pain down all the way to her fingertips. Instantly, he covered his mouth in horror, “Oh my Light, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Fuck off,” she snarled, “You’re already becoming a monster and I can’t stay here and watch you do increasingly horrible things Artha— Anduin. Let me leave this place.” 

She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear the image of a different but equally beautiful blond man from her vision. “Go now, Anduin. Before I lose my patience with you and do something we don’t want again.” 

He swallowed thickly, tears visibly brimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then left the room in a rush.

Alone again, Jaina slumped on the floor and just breathed as tears and sobs wrenched themselves from her without her permission. Some unknown time later the guards came in, gently lifted her and brought her back to her prison cell where she curled up on the floor and tried to ignore the shame of showing such weakness in front of Blightcaller. When finally her tears faded, she realized Genn had not returned and worried briefly before she met Nathanos’s eyes and saw the lonely resignation there that told her that, in all likelihood, Genn had abandoned them for Anduin’s side.

“There’s no shame in tears, Proudmoore,” Nathanos said softly, looking away from her, “If I were capable I would react similarly to the loss of my home, my people, and my life.” 

“There’s still hope,” she snapped, disliking how on the head he’d struck her pain.

He snorted and looked at her again. “You’re a smart woman, Proudmoore, I think we both know that’s becoming increasingly untrue. Now, how about I tell you about the time Lor’themar tried to send a courting gift to Sylvanas when we were all alive.” 

  
  


####  _ Monday, 8:00, the Nessusus training room; Anduin _

With a clang, his blade bounced off of Winters’s when she parried. He swiveled for a follow up strike then found himself suddenly on his back when she caught his ankle with her foot and uprooted his delicate balance. He groaned as he hit the ground and shot a glare to where Amalia was watching them when he heard her chuckle, but accepted Letitia’s help up nonetheless. 

“If you wanted an easy target to let your frustrations out on, my king, perhaps you would consider one of the training dummies?” Amalia offered, and he grit his teeth. 

“Fuck off, Amalia,” he grumbled, twirling his blades and readying himself to continue sparring. 

She snorted. “Apologies, my king. You should keep your feet slightly farther apart and you won’t be toppled so easily.”

Winters meanwhile was squaring up as well, heavy two handed blade dancing in her hands like it weighed nothing. “When you’re ready, my king.” 

He nodded, and they began again. They traded blows, Anduin keeping Amalia’s advice in mind so that he didn’t lose his balance, and though eventually Winters ended up with her blade at his throat, he felt better having been able to work some of his frustration out. He thanked his Highlord and her second, put his practice swords away, then headed finally to his father’s room. 

He’d taken the time to raise the fallen Alliance soldiers that morning before going to see Genn, and between himself, Amalia, and even the vaguest mention of Varian’s compliance he’d convinced all but two to join him enthusiastically, with the remaining two being held until they could be escorted to Arathi where they would be free to do as they pleased. Whatever good mood had found him from that success, however, had been ruined by his talk with Jaina, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Varian would end up just seeing Arthas in him instead of the man he really was. Not only that, but he was hesitant to see him again after all that had happened the night before, when Varian had revealed that he was not, in fact, his biological father, and that Anduin was a Menethil rather than a Wrynn. 

Whether he was nervous that Varian would take it back or that somehow it would mean that Varian had no desire to care for him still, he wasn’t sure, but butterflies had been fluttering in his stomach every time he thought about seeing him and the disaster of a peace talk with Jaina hadn’t helped matters in the least. Genn seemed potentially amenable, which helped a little, but the fact that a woman who considered him a nephew had forsaken him so easily did not make his nerves about the man who considered him a son lessen. 

He walked to Varian’s room with leaden feet, and when he got to the door and tried to unlock it, realized his hands were shaking so badly he wasn’t able to do so on his own. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he spun to see Winters there, hand outstretched for the ring of keys. 

“Let me help,” she said softly, eyes kind despite the cold blue of undeath, and he gratefully handed the keys over. 

She unlocked the door and pulled back the deadbolt, but stopped him before he entered. “I’ll be right here in case you need anything, my king. You reminded me yesterday that you’re a person as well as a king, and while that means I can come to you with my problems, it also means you have problems of your own. I’m here to help, whenever you need.” She released his arm and stepped back from the door to let Anduin pass, and he was so glad for her that he wanted to cry.

“Thank you, Letitia,” he whispered, then entered with what little resolve he had left. 

Varian stood when he walked in and Anduin’s heart leapt at the pure  _ joy _ in the man’s eyes upon seeing him, all of his trepidations and anxiety melting away at that look. He rushed forward and pulled him into a hug, the hug he’d wanted the day before but had been too shocked to take when he’d had the chance, and then pulled back to grin at him. 

“I’m assuming they’ve fed you already?” he asked, and when Varian nodded, continued, “Good, good. I’d thought to let you sleep in but I guess that wasn’t what you wanted.”

Varian only snorted. “I’m a military man, Anduin, I don’t know the meaning of sleeping in.” 

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Right, of course, how stupid of me to give you time to rest,” he teased, “Would you like more tea? I have things to speak with you about that might be better over a warm drink.” 

“I’m fine. I’d rather know sooner than have something to comfort me,” Varian replied, and as he did Anduin realized how dumb a question it had been in the first place. Of anyone Anduin knew, his father was definitely the most likely to want his truth straight and without a chaser. 

“Right, well let’s sit, at the least, then we can go from there.” He waved his hand toward the table and they walked over to it and sat. “The primary thing I wish to speak with you about is joining me, as I’m sure you figured out on your own. However, there is the question of kingship and the ruling of Stormwind as well. I am not going to ask you to hand over your crown, but at least I would like a peace accord and a concession to my power on the part of Stormwind as a sovereign nation.” 

Varian looked down at the table, picking at the wood with his blunt fingernails and not speaking for a time. When he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming with sadness and regret in a way Anduin had never seen before. “I don’t know if I can join you, Anduin. I love you, I love you so much, but I feel like by letting you do this, become this, I’m just failing a man I love all over again.” 

“You’re not failing me, you’re helping me achieve peace. Varian—” he cut himself off so sharply his teeth clacked together at the wince the man made at hearing his first name, “I love you, so much, and I don’t want to go to war with you. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is peace and you at my side. Please allow me that?” 

He swallowed and looked away, and Anduin berated himself for the way his eyes locked onto the bob of his Adam's apple. Varian was so beautiful, and Anduin really was far too undeserving of everything he wanted from him. 

“Anduin… You know that I’ve struggled with peace, with my hatred for orcs and the Horde after what they did to me, with my anger and my temper. You know that I’ve struggled to do better, to  _ be _ better for you, and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you but,” Varian paused to swallow again, voice thick and tears filling his eyes, “I don’t know if this is right. I don't know if this is the way and if it’s not then I’d be helping you turn into a monster. I don’t want to see you taken down the way we had to put down Arthas. Please, Anduin.” 

Anduin reached out and took Varian’s face in his hands, wiping away a tear as it spilled down his cheek. “I love you, just as I know you love me. But more than that, I trust you. If you truly believe that what I’m becoming is wrong… I’ll think on that. I’ll consider it. But please, please know that I love my people, I love this world, more than anything. Arthas ripped his heart out so that he could become the Lich King, he ripped it out so that it wouldn’t hurt him, so that it wouldn’t stop him. I still love, deeply, perhaps more than I should… and in ways that I shouldn’t,” he admitted softly, still wiping the man’s tears away, “This state that I’m in has changed little except what I believe is possible, what I believe is acceptable; where in life I was not allowed certain things because of rules or restrictions, now I feel free. Peace through undeath is still peace, love that was forbidden is still love. If that makes me a monster I will let you put me down yourself, I won’t even fight it. I don’t want to go to war with you, Varian, because I love you so much that it would kill me no matter the outcome.” 

He swallowed past his own tears and hoped he wasn’t being too open, then leaned forward and kissed Varian’s forehead softly before standing. “I’ll let you think. I demand no answer from you now and I know it’s a lot to process. I pray you decide to follow me, for both of our sakes, but if you don’t I cannot force it.” 

  
  


####  _ Meanwhile; Varian _

“You would not force me to follow?” he asked as Anduin walked away, heart breaking in his chest. It hurt more than he’d thought it would to watch Anduin leave. 

“No. Loyalty is like love, it must be freely given or it means and is worth nothing at all. You cannot force someone to follow you, just as you cannot force someone to love you,” Anduin said as he paused with his hand resting on the door, looking over his shoulder at him, “You must choose to follow me, to believe in me, or your service would be meaningless.” 

Varian mind spun with cognitive dissonance; this was not Arthas, not at all, and being reminded of how unlike his father Anduin was jarred him from his indecision. He stood as Anduin reached for the handle of the door and called out, “Wait, Anduin. Please, wait.” 

Anduin stopped, and turned to look at him again. “Yes?” he asked hesitantly, like he was hopeful but unsure whether he should be.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, always, no matter what. I love you more than this world, you know that, and I think deep down I only feared that you had thrown your heart away such as Arthas did all those years ago, forsook everything you knew and loved. But you haven’t, you’re still  _ you _ , and thus I could not stop myself from loving you, from trusting and following you, if I tried with all my might,” Varian admitted, falling to one knee, “Please, Anduin, let me serve you with everything that I am. My heart, my hand, my soul are yours. All that I own, my crown, it’s all yours so long as you do not leave me.” 

Anduin had turned to face him fully, mouth agape and eyes wide. He seemed frozen there, like this was the last thing he expected. Then, like a dam that had been holding him in place broke, Anduin was rushing forward and falling to his knees to meet Varian on the ground and pulling him into a kiss, hands holding the sides of his face and pushing up into his hair. Varian’s mind stuttered for a moment, not quite having realized what Anduin had been implying earlier when he’d talked about forbidden love, but now it made sense and Varian was grateful he was not alone in his feelings. Though evidently the nature had not been quite sexual, Anduin being a boy and all, he’d grown to care in a less-than-paternal way for Anduin over the years and kissing him now, he knew what the reality of those feelings was even if he’d denied it to himself until that moment. 

With a sigh, he relaxed into the kiss, pressing back into Anduin’s touch and reaching out a hand to touch his waist. When they pulled apart some infinite and uncountable number of moments later, Anduin met his eyes and asked sincerely, “Is this really what you want? My blessing cannot be undone once it has been given, are you really sure this is what you choose?” 

In that moment, Varian knew there was nothing more certain in all his life than the fact that he would follow Anduin to the ends of the universe and beyond. “Yes,” he said, then pushed forward to kiss him again and felt his body freeze and shift and change as blue flame encompassed his form. When they pulled apart, Varian breathed in Anduin’s scent only to realize he didn’t need to breathe, and kissed Anduin again, then again, only to realize his heart didn’t flutter how it used to. Through it all, though, nothing about his feelings changed, and when they finally pulled apart again, Anduin somehow having ended up in his lap in the process of them kissing, he rested his forehead against his shoulder and just held him. 

Whatever happened, whatever horrors and opposition they faced, they would face it together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure quite when the next chapter will be up, I'm working on a number of [redacted] which are occupying my time, but I'm also so invested in this fic that I'll likely end up working on it even when it's not what I should be doing. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments mean the world!! Thank you so much for sticking with this!!!


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